The Cold Touch of Rain
by pixiegal927
Summary: A shield maiden of Rohan named Enelya is seduced by Wormtongue's cunning personality...but her innocent sister, Náwien, quickly becomes the object of Wormtongue's desires. Éomer and Náwien engage in a secret affair...betrayal, love, and tragedy ensue.
1. Two Sisters, Alike and Different

~*~*A/N: Okay. This story is...screwed up. I'm aware. But...I'm a unique individual, as we all know. I think you guys will all like it. This takes place just before The Two Towers.*~*~  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER ONE: Two Sisters, Alike and Different  
  
  
  
  
Not too far away, thunder was rumbling. The sound started low, almost as a whisper, and then grew, a warning. It rained almost every evening in Rohan...a sign of what was to come. When the sun went down, the rains began.  
  
Despite the inclimate weather, Náwien Carnesir gathered her sword and headed for the door. Once a week, she rode her horse to the royal house to visit Éomer, nephew of the King. He was teaching her the ways of the blade, for there was nothing she desired more than to become a talented Shield Maiden like her elder sister, Enelya, and her sister's friend, Éowyn. Unfortunately, she did not come close to the level of skill that Enelya possessed. Swordsmanship came easily to Enelya, but Náwien struggled with it, for it was a difficult task for her. The handle of her sword was heavy, and the blade awkward in her grasp. However, despite her lack of skill, Éomer never grew impatient with her; he always tried to help as best he could. For that, Náwien was grateful.  
  
Náwien paused outside her door, seeing her reflection in the glass window. She smoothed down her messy blonde hair, which was knotted in many places, and especially snared towards the bottom. Her hair was the same shade as Enelya's, and almost the same length, causing them to bear resemblance to one another, but Náwien's eyes were a pale honey-brown, and her sister's a deep blue. Finally looking away from her own image, she reached for the handle of the door, but stopped upon hearing Enelya's voice behind her.  
  
"Náwien, are you leaving?" called her sister.  
  
"Aye, I am going to see Éomer for a lesson," she replied, her hand frozen on the doorknob.  
  
"The rains will begin shortly," Enelya said, appearing in the hall.  
  
"I know," Náwien answered, turning to face her. "But I cannot miss a lesson. I must improve my skill."  
  
Enelya to bite her lip to keep from laughing, knowing that Náwien had no skill to improve, but said nothing. She did not wish to dampen her sister's spirits for no reason other than for her own amusement.   
  
"Well, have a good time then," she said, smiling. "Try not to get caught in the storm."  
  
"I shall try. Fare thee well."  
  
Náwien waved to her sister, thinking to herself for the hundredth time how much she looked like her. Of course, Enelya's face was more mature; she bore the expression of wisdom, for she was twenty four years of age, and Náwien was only sixteen. People always said that, when the girls both grew up, they would be able to pass for twins. Náwien looked forward to that day - when she was almost equal to Enelya. It was hard for her to believe that it would happen.  
  
~*~  
  
Éomer sat with his sister, Éowyn, in a room inside the Golden Hall. Outside, thunder was threatening the peace of the city, and he knew that it would not be long before another storm started. He could smell the rain on the air.  
  
"Enelya's sister," Éowyn said, "is she coming tonight?"  
  
"Aye," Éomer replied, looking out the window at the darkening sky. "She should be here shortly."  
  
"It is odd," she said thoughtfully. "Enelya and Náwien are so very different from one another."  
  
"One would not think it so from looking at the two side by side."  
  
"Aye, they do bear a striking resemblance," Éowyn agreed, nodding. "But the similarities do end upon the surface of their skin. Their personalities are nothing alike."  
  
"I cannot say that I know Enelya as well as you do," her brother admitted. "I just know of her exceptional skill with the blade."  
  
"Something that cannot be taught so easily."  
  
"Náwien is very eager to learn," Éomer stated. "There is nothing that can burn away her motiviation...true passion is rare these days, my sister. While she may not be able to weild a sword the way Enelya can, she has the determination to be just as talented. She just needs some practice."  
  
"You are very kind to teach her then," Éowyn said, pushing her chair back and striding to the window. She peered out, seeing the newly falling rain, and hearing it as it pattered on the road and stone buildings. "She is coming down the path now, as we speak."  
  
Éomer joined his sister at the window and looked out, seeing Náwien securing her horse to a nearby tree before walking swiftly towards the palace, her dark blonde locks matted against her head from the water. Her dress, which was of a deep blue shade, was soaked. By her side was her trusty sword, which she grasped firmly, her fingers locked around the handle as if dropping it would bear the cost of her life.  
  
"You are right, Éomer. She does have motivation."  
  
Éomer smiled at his sister, and then walked to the doors, ready to greet his student.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: What do you think? More to come soon.*~*~ 


	2. A Lesson

~*~*A/N: Two fics at once is always dangerous. Mwa-ha-ha-ha...*~*~  
  
  
  
CHAPTER TWO: A Lesson  
  
  
  
Náwien knocked upon the broad double doors of the Golden Hall before wrapping her arms around herself, shivering from the icy rain that splattered against the stone stairs around her. The doors opened almost immediately, and Éomer ushered her in quickly, helping her out of the rain.  
  
"It's very impressive of you to come in such a storm," he said, slamming the door shut behind her.  
  
"I wouldn't want to miss a lesson," she replied, feeling the warmth of the air inside the royal house. "I am anxious to learn more."  
  
"'Tis what I was just saying to my sister," Éomer remarked, nodding to Éowyn, who smiled at them both. "Why don't I find you a dry cloak before we begin?"  
  
Náwien nodded, placing her sword on a table, and shaking the drops of water from her blonde hair. Éomer disappeared from the room, and returned shortly, holding a thick blue cloak. He placed it over Náwien's shoulders, and then stood back, letting her adjust it at her will. Éowyn left, making for the Throne Room to visit the King, leaving Náwien and Éomer alone to tarry.  
  
Éomer drew his sword, holding it steady in front of his broad chest. He gestured for Náwien to do the same, and she unsheathed her blade, wielding it awkwardly.  
  
"Let's go," he said, calling out counts. "One two, left, three four, right. Very good, keep your sword up. Five, left, six, right, seven eight, right, nine ten, left. Move your feet."  
  
Their blades clashed together, the sound ringing through the empty halls. Náwien's eyebrows were drawn close together as she tried very hard to concentrate. She knew that one slip could cost her a limb - or her life - in battle.  
  
"Keep up the pace - don't slow down," Éomer instructed, pivoting on his heel to catch her off-guard. He laughed slightly, and lowered his sword. "You don't have to look so serious," he said. "We're not actually fighting."  
  
She pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes and looked up at him.  
  
"I know," Náwien replied with a small smile. "It's just hard for me, I suppose. I want to be a talented Shield Maiden so badly. I guess I take it too seriously."  
  
Éomer looked at her closely. "'Tis not a bad thing for you to take your training as serious work, for the way of the sword is not a light matter - it does hold the power to take lives. However, I am not your enemy, Náwien. You do not have to regard me as such."  
  
"I apologize," she said, bowing her head.  
  
"There is nothing to forgive," Éomer replied with a wave of his hand. "You have not done anything wrong. Come now. Let us tarry again."  
  
Éomer raised his sword and Náwien did the same, their blades forming an "x" in the air.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"One, left, two, right, three four right, five right, six, left.."  
  
As Éomer continued to call out counts, Náwien blocked his lashes, her feet moving swiftly underneath her. This time, she was unable to keep the small smile from playing upon her soft pale lips.  
  
~*~  
  
Gríma Wormtongue peered around the corner of a column, watching as Éowyn strode through the halls. He knew that his presence made her uneasy, and he enjoyed every minute of it. Oh, how he loved making her look over her shoulder, making her squirm. There wasn't anything he desired from Éowyn other than the thrill that rushed through his blood when she stared at him with disgust.  
  
Suddenly, the sound of blades clanging against one another cut through his reverie, and he looked up, alert. Slowly, he slunk towards the main hall, and looked out from the dark. Éomer was striking swords with a young girl, though he could not view her face. Her back was to him, so all he could see were damp tangles of golden hair, and the folds of a dark cloak. Wormtongue heard footsteps approaching, and he quickly retreated into the shadows, sweeping his cape swiftly as he left the room.  
  
~*~  
  
"You've improved, Náwien," Éomer said, once their lesson drew to a close.  
  
"Have I really?" she asked, her honey-colored eyes widening with excitement.  
  
"Aye, indeed," Éomer replied, sheathing his sword in a suave manner. "It's won't be long before you are ready for hand-to-hand combat."  
  
"Let's hope she doesn't have to fight orcs anytime soon," Éowyn said, entering the room.  
  
"Of course," Éomer said quickly.  
  
Náwien nodded her agreement, but secretly she had a desire to slay the orcs of Mordor. She knew that one day, her time would come for a battle. And she would win - she would become a hero just like the stories she used to read as a child. And one day, she would be put into tales herself. She knew it deep in her heart, but did not dare say any of her hopes aloud to either Éomer or Éowyn.  
  
"I thank you for your patience and kindness," Náwien said to Éomer.  
  
"'Twas nothing, as always," he replied, offering her a warm smile. "Same time next week?"  
  
"Aye," Náwien answered, reaching up to unclip the cloak. Éomer held out a hand to stop her.  
  
"Keep it," he ordered. "It is a gift. May it keep you warm in the night air on your way home."  
  
"Thank you," she murmured. With another smile to Éomer and his sister, she left the Golden Hall, her sword at her side.  
  
Éowyn watched as Éomer stared after her for a few long moments.  
  
"You shouldn't lie to her like that," she said.  
  
"What do you mean?" Éomer asked, tearing his gaze from the closed door.  
  
"She is not nearly ready for combat. She will perish by the blade of an orc easily. Do not give her false security."  
  
"Náwien is getting better," Éomer said defensively. "I can feel it in her sword. She is stronger."  
  
Éowyn stared at him for a few minutes, before chuckling slightly.  
  
"You're hopeless, my brother," she said, rolling her eyes.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Be careful." Éowyn said simply, her eyes speaking a warning. Without another word, she exited the room, leaving Éomer to wonder what she was talking about.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: More Wormtongue in later chapters. I promise.*~*~ 


	3. Captivated

~*~*A/N: I'm glad you all like this story! To answer some a review comment, no, I'm not making Náwien like a Mary-Sue. You'll see what I do with her.it'll be different, I promise. Bear with me.*~*~  
  
  
  
CHAPTER THREE: Captivated  
  
  
  
Enelya heard the front door of her house open, and then close quietly, as Náwien entered.  
  
"Hello," she called out, waiting to hear Náwien's lilting voice in response.  
  
"Good evening," she replied, hanging her cloak on a rack and shaking out her wet hair. She traveled through the small house to where Enelya was sitting at a table in the kitchen, drinking from a mug.  
  
"How did your lesson go?" Enelya asked, her dry blonde hair pulled back into a simple braid.  
  
"Very well," Náwien beamed, sitting down next to her sister. "Éomer says that I will be ready for combat soon."  
  
Enelya's eyebrows raised slightly. The last time she took notice, Náwien could barely hold her sword steady. And now Éomer was making promises of battles? Had Éowyn's brother gone mad? Enelya made a silent mental note to ask her friend about it later, for it sounded too farfetched for her liking.  
  
"Do you think that I will need to fight one day soon?" Náwien asked, her chin resting in her palms.  
  
Enelya tried not to roll her eyes at her sister's dreamy expression. Náwien was so young.of course she still viewed war in a typical idealistic way. She probably thought it was admirable to die upon the blade of an orc. What a foolish way to think.  
  
"I hope you don't ever have to fight," Enelya replied, leaning forward and placing her hand on Náwien's. "It is a terrible thing, my sister, to go to war. There is nothing glorious or majestic about it."  
  
"I never said th--"  
  
"You would do well, Náwien, if you removed all hopeful thoughts of war and combat from your mind, no matter what Éomer tells you."  
  
"I thought you supported my desire to learn the ways of the sword."  
  
"I do," Enelya said firmly. "Of course I do. I just do not want you to get the wrong idea bout war. I worry about you, Náwien. You are but a girl.not quite yet a fully-grown woman. You still have much to learn - regarding both the sword and life."  
  
Náwien offered a small smile, which may have been forced.  
  
"I appreciate your concern," she said. "However, I do not think you need to worry so much. I know how to look after and care for myself."  
  
With those words, Náwien stood and walked towards her chamber. Enelya shook her head to the empty room, knowing that her sister had no idea what she spoke of.  
  
~*~  
  
Bright and early the next morning, Enelya rode her pale brown horse to the Golden Hall to visit Éowyn. The two had agreed to meet for breakfast, and Enelya was late. She was supposed to arrive fifteen minutes ago, and she dug her heels into her horse's side in an effort to move faster. They galloped through the streets, the animal kicking up dust as he went.  
  
Finally, she arrived at the Golden Hall. She dismounted her horse and quickly ran up the stone stairs to knock upon the doors. Three guards stepped forward, blocking her from entering.  
  
"What business do you have at the Golden Hall?" one asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  
  
Enelya frowned; there were never any interrogating guards at the entrance.  
  
"I've come to see Éowyn," she explained slowly, thoroughly confused.  
  
"I must ask you to rid yourself of any weapons before entering through the doors," the guard replied sternly.  
  
"All I have is my sword," Enelya said, showing him the small blade at her side. "I am a Shield Maiden, like Éowyn herself."  
  
"I am sorry, but I have to ask you to--"  
  
"Háma," came Éowyn's voice, as she stepped through the doors. "It's quite all right. Enelya is a friend of mine."  
  
"Friend or foe, I still must ask her to lay her weapons down before entering the Golden Hall," Háma said stubbornly.  
  
"Why?" Éowyn asked. "'Tis never been the rule in these parts."  
  
"Gríma Wormtongue has ordered it so," Háma replied with a shrug. "And as a doorman, I must obey his command."  
  
Éowyn looked puzzled, but sighed, and motioned for Enelya to remove her sword. She unsheathed the blade quickly, laying it down on a table before following Éowyn inside the Golden Hall.  
  
"I apologize for that disturbance," Éowyn said, as the two Maidens walked towards a dining room. "I don't understand why Wormtongue has directed those orders. But then, there's a lot that goes on in Rohan lately that I don't understand."  
  
The women sat at a table together, where two plates and mugs had been laid out for them already. Before they could begin eating, light footsteps were heard, and they turned, seeing a shadow creeping along the far wall. Wormtongue then appeared in the doorway, pausing slightly before walking in.  
  
"Wormtongue," Éowyn said, her voice cold and eyes wide. "It's a good thing you're here. There's something I must know."  
  
"Yes?" he asked, wondering what she could possibly have to ask him.  
  
Enelya stared at him in amazement, her mouth open slightly. She'd never been in the presence of Wormtongue before, and his aura was hypnotic. At first sight, he was most unpleasant to look at, with his sickly pale skin and frighteningly light blue eyes. But as he spoke, he grew more and more captivating, and she found herself unable to look away, as much as she wanted to.  
  
"Why did you tell Háma to take all weapons from visitors to the house?" Éowyn questioned.  
  
"For the King's protection, of course," Wormtongue answered after only a moment's hesitation. "Rohan is weak.it wouldn't do to have strange armed guests in the presence of our strongest figure."  
  
Éowyn stared at him, unconvinced.  
  
"Oh, Éowyn," he said, taking a few steps towards her. "Don't you understand? I just want what's best for the King. And what's best for you as well."  
  
He stared at her for a few moments before turning to Enelya, meeting her astounded gaze. They looked at one another for a few moments, Enelya, flabbergasted at his words, and Wormtongue, confused at her expression. Then, he turned and exited the room with a sweep of his black cape. She watched him go, feeling a chill run through her body. There was something haunting about his presence, and she loved the feeling of danger as it coursed through her veins.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Oh baby.*~*~ 


	4. Danger at the Borders

~*~*A/N: I appreciate all the comments that you guys have left me so far. Thanks. Again, I'll say that Náwien isn't really going to be like a Mary-Sue. Have some faith…I'm planning on doing something pretty interesting with her. Oh, and just a quick FYI: the Orcs in this chapter are NOT, NOT, NOT the Uruk-Hais that have Merry & Pippin. They'll come later.*~*~  
  
  
  
CHAPTER FOUR: Danger at the Borders  
  
  
  
Enelya stared after Wormtongue for a long time, watching as he retreated, noticing how the room felt a touch colder. He left behind his icy air.  
  
"My friend," came the soft voice of Éowyn. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Enelya replied, jumping slightly as she was dragged back down to reality. "I'm fine."  
  
"Your expression…'tis very strange," Éowyn continued. "Your eyes are a bit wild. Are you sure that you're not ill?"  
  
"Maybe it's the weather," Enelya said after a moment's hesitation. "The frequent rain makes me feel dizzy and faint. I hate the storms that come by night."  
  
"Aye, I dislike them as well," Éowyn said, and Enelya was grateful for the subject change. "I know not why Rohan is plagued with rain every time the sun goes down; 'tis a mystery that I greatly desire to uncloak."  
  
"Perhaps it's a sign."  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"Of things to come," Enelya guessed. "Isn't that what all signs are?"  
  
"If the future of Rohan is symbolized by rain, then I doubt we have peaceful days ahead," Éowyn said quietly, almost to herself. "There must be something we can do to stop the danger that approaches from the shadowed lands in the east."  
  
"Mordor, you speak of?"   
  
"What else could it be?" Éowyn asked. "Sauron must be gaining his strength once more."   
  
"Someone will find a way to stop it," Enelya said confidently. "There are many brave men in this world, and smart ones at that. Someone…somewhere will figure out what the Dark Lord is conjuring this time. He will not conquer all."  
  
"I am glad you have so much faith," Éowyn said, "but I cannot see it that way. For even in the city of Rohan, there is weakness. Something ails the King, but I do not know what. Théoden is not himself."   
  
"How so?"  
  
"He doesn't share the same concerns that Éomer and I do…he is distant and preoccupied…like his mind is on other matters."  
  
"Théoden loves his people," Enelya said. "Rohan is his life. I'm sure you must be mistaken."  
  
"But I am not. If you spent more than a day at the Golden Hall, you would see it for yourself. Something is wrong here."  
  
Suddenly, the doors to the Hall burst open, and one of the Riders ran in, clothed in armor.  
  
"What is it, Éothain?" asked Éowyn upon seeing him.  
  
"A band of Orcs, m'lady," Éothain answered, yanking his helmet upon his head. "Not too far from the borders. Where is your brother?"  
  
Before Éowyn could call for him, Éomer appeared in the doorway, his helmet in hand.  
  
"Orcs, you say?" he asked, quickly pulling on his metal protection.   
  
"Fifteen minutes from here," Éothain cried. "We must be swift and leave now."  
  
"Orcs have not approached the borders of Rohan in a long time," Éowyn gasped. "Why now? What do they want?"  
  
Éomer didn't answer her rhetorical questions; he only grabbed his sword and ran for the door.   
  
"Let's go," Enelya said, grabbing Éowyn's arm. "We can fight along side your brother and the other Riders."   
  
She dragged Éowyn down the hall after Éomer. Once outside, Enelya remembered her sword's place atop Háma's table. At the bottom of the great stone stairs, the Riders of Rohan mounted their horses and set off, charging for the borders.  
  
"Is it wise," asked the raspy voice from behind them, "to send out so many soldiers to their death over a small group of Orcs?"  
  
Éowyn and Enelya turned, seeing Wormtongue beside Háma.   
  
"That small group of Orcs will get larger," she said coldly, "if we do not slay them."  
  
"What would we have two women do at the borders?" Wormtongue asked, fingering the blade of Enelya's sword. "'Tis no place for you two."  
  
"We are going to fight," Éowyn declared firmly, sheathing her sword, and turning, her blonde waves flying behind her. Enelya lingered on the stone platform, reaching slowly for her sword.   
  
"You know that this is dangerous," Wormtongue stated, looking directly at Enelya. "I can see it in your eyes."  
  
"It is a risk," Enelya answered, pausing before sheathing her blade. "A risk necessary to take in order to keep the order of Rohan."   
  
"Order?" Wormtongue echoed. "There has been no order in Rohan for some time. If this band of Orcs is slain, the order that you speak of will not be replaced so easily."  
  
"Enelya!" Éowyn called from the gates. "Hurry!"  
  
"Mordor will not take our city," Enelya said sternly, turning on her heel, and running down the stairs. She found, as she joined Éowyn, that she could not force her heart to return to its normal rhythm. Wormtongue's voice and presence was hypnotic. She was afraid if she lingered any longer near him, he would poison her mind.   
  
"Mordor will not take our city," Wormtongue repeated to himself as he watched Enelya and Éowyn gallop off after the Riders. "No…it will not." He turned his gaze to the northwest, feeling the sun upon his face. "But Isengard will come for us." A small grin played upon Wormtongue's pale, cracked lips as he turned to the doors of the Golden Hall. Éomer and the other Riders of Rohan could slay all the Orcs of Mordor that they wanted…but nothing would prepare them for the power of Saruman the White.   
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Let me know what you guys think. Some fighting in the next one.*~*~ 


	5. The Importance of an Individual

~*~*A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I'm going to try to make this chapter long. Okay. Enjoy. And…I'm sorry, Purists. But someone's gotta die here.*~*~  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER FIVE: The Importance of an Individual   
  
  
  
  
Enelya and Éowyn traveled together, digging their heels into their individual horses in efforts to catch up with the Riders of Rohan. They passed villagers who had come out of their houses, curious to see why there were numerous horses galloping past at such an early hour.   
  
"Don't worry," Éowyn called over her shoulder to a woman who was holding onto her son, looking frightened. "Everything will be all right."  
  
"Will it be?" Enelya said softly to her friend, once the villagers were out of hearing distance. "How can you be so sure?"  
  
"These are just Orcs, my friend. Nothing we haven't faced before."  
  
The two Shield Maidens quickly joined the Riders, and they dismounted, unsheathing their swords as one.   
  
"Let's scout."  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien opened the door of her small house, stepping into the streets. She'd heard the sound of hooves against the ground, and saw the dirt rise into the air as the horses kicked up dust. Her mouth opened in shock as she saw the Riders of Rohan charge past, but what surprised her more was the sight of her sister and Éowyn among them.  
  
"Where are they going?" she whispered aloud to a neighbor who stood, holding her young child close to her breast.  
  
"I know not," answered the villager.   
  
"Could it be Orcs?" Náwien wondered. "What else would drive them through the village this early?"  
  
"Orcs?" came the cry of another woman.   
  
"Are we being invaded?"  
  
"What is happening?"  
  
Náwien ducked her head, feeling foolish for beginning the mass hysteria that was rippling through the town. Mothers quickly ushered their children inside, and fathers grabbed their axes, prepared to defend their families. Náwien stepped forward, jumping on a nearby overturned wooden crate, clearing her throat to gain attention.  
  
"Have no fear!" she yelled. "The Riders of Rohan will protect us from whatever is out there. I am sure of this."  
  
"How do you know?" asked one man. "How can you be positive?"  
  
"Because my sister is out there," Náwien answered proudly. "And Éomer…and Éowyn. They will not let this city go down in ashes. I trust them, and you should as well."  
  
~*~  
  
"Where are they, Éomer?" Éowyn asked, approaching her brother's side.   
  
"I do not see them yet," he replied, sniffing the air. "But they are close. I smell it."  
  
Enelya closed her eyes, letting the wind's scent travel through her nose. She, too, could smell the foul stench that the orcs always brought with them wherever they went. It lingered on the breeze, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It was very still…very quiet. Then, out of the blue, she heard the sounds of twigs snapping. Enelya whirled on her heel, her sword raised and ready.   
  
"Be alert," Éomer warned them.  
  
As if summoned by his words, the Orcs came crashing through the trees, bearing swords and axes.   
  
"Let's go!"  
  
At once, the Riders, Enelya, and Éowyn sprang forward, letting out battle cries as they charged towards the Orcs. Enelya sank her blade into the slimy flesh of an Orc, hearing its snarl of pain. She pressed her boot against its chest, removing her sword with a sickening sound. She whirled, swinging out, taking off the head of another Orc, and spun again, driving her weapon through yet another's throat. The band of Orcs was small, luckily, but Enelya knew that more would come. It was just an introduction to the attack that Rohan would suffer. She could feel it, just like Éowyn.   
  
Enelya paused by a tree, catching her breath. She lay a hand on the sturdy trunk, hanging her head low as she regained air. The Orcs were few and far between; most of them were slain quickly. She heard the final blows as the Riders finished off the band, killing the remaining stragglers.   
  
"Éothain!" Éowyn cried. "Look out!"  
  
Enelya turned, her ocean-blue eyes wide as she watched an Orc stationed behind Éothain bring down his ax with a crash. The Rider's face contorted in pain, and blood spurted from the wound at the base of his skull. He fell to his knees, gasping in shock and despair. Éowyn was at his side in a moment, her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. Éomer, like lightning, was upon the Orc, slicing its throat with ease. Then, he joined his sister by Éothain's side, crouching next to them.   
  
"I'm sorry," Éothain said, struggling for breath to speak. "I have failed you, my friend."  
  
"Peace, Éothain," Éomer said, shaking his head sadly. "You were brave…and noble. You did not fail us. We were blessed to have you among the Riders of Rohan."  
  
Éothain did not speak again; his eyes froze on the concerned faces of Éomer and his sister. A solitary tear slid down the dirt-smudged cheek of Éowyn, and she looked at her brother for solace.   
  
"They're all killed," Enelya said, sheathing her sword and walking towards Éomer and Éowyn.   
  
"I fear that this is not the last we'll see of our enemies," Éomer said gravely, standing. "The Orcs will return. The next time they appear, there will be more of them, and the battle will not be as easy. It will cost us more lives."  
  
"But we will be ready," Éowyn said, also rising to her feet. "We will not let them catch us off-guard again."  
  
The remaining Riders joined Éowyn, Éomer, and Enelya, and they stood together, huddled in a circle.  
  
"Luckily, this small battle only took one life," Éomer said, gesturing to Éothain's limp body upon the ground. "But we cannot have hope that this will not happen ever again. More Orcs will come. We must be prepared to fight."   
  
The Riders nodded somberly, knowing that Éomer was right. They looked at one another, the fear plain as day on their faces.  
  
"Come," Éomer said, sheathing his sword. "Let us bring Éothain back to Rohan and give him the proper burial that he deserves. Take what you will from the fallen Orcs."  
  
Enelya made her way to Éowyn, who was drying her tears.   
  
"We are lucky that only one of us was killed," she said, offering comfort.  
  
"Lucky?" Her eyes flared. "There is nothing lucky about Éothain's death."  
  
"I was just saying that we are blessed to not have been--"  
  
"True, this was not a massacre," Éowyn interrupted angrily, "but one death is just as tragic as a hundred. The sadness that pours from Éothain's falling would be the same if we'd lost all of our men. Don't you dare speak of it lightly." At this point, all of the Riders were staring openly at Éowyn's sudden burst of emotion. "That goes for everyone," she added, with a pointed glare to her brother. Without another word, Éowyn turned and mounted her horse, galloping off. Enelya started after her, but Éomer grabbed her arm, stopping her from moving forward.  
  
"Don't," he ordered. "Just leave her. She'll come 'round. She always does."  
  
Enelya nodded, knowing that Éomer was correct. She watched, her mouth open slightly, as the Riders lifted Éothain's lifeless body and placed him on Éomer's horse. He climbed on behind the dead Rider, letting Éothain slump casually against his chest. Then, they were off, fleeing to the city once more. Enelya pulled herself on her own horse and followed them, feeling a numbness climb through her veins slowly. Death, she thought, was always hard to witness. It was cold and emotionless, and she couldn't bear the sight of it. She could only hope that it would not get worse, though, she knew deep in her heart that it would.   
  
~*~  
  
Náwien searched the returning Riders for familiar faces. She first saw Éowyn, who rode ahead of the others. Náwien started to call out to her, but the Shield Maiden took no notice, and pressed on, her mouth set in a firm line of anger. Náwien was relieved to see Éomer ride on as well, but her expression of happiness changed to that of woe when she noticed the slack body in front of his. She recognized the Man as another Rider…Éothain was his name…she'd seen him with Éomer before. Blood coated his soft hair, sticking it to his shoulders and back. The side of his face was covered in dirt, and his clothes stained red. Náwien stared after them for a long time, her mouth open in shock. Finally, she saw her sister, and she ran to her, calling her name.  
  
"What happened?" Náwien gasped, seeing the blood on her sister's clothes. "Are you hurt?"  
  
Enelya glanced down at the red stains after she dismounted.   
  
"Nay, this is not my blood," she replied, taking the red liquid on her fingers and sniffing it. "Orc blood."  
  
Náwien's eyes widened.  
  
"So there were Orcs!"  
  
"Aye, there were indeed," Enelya said seriously. "A whole band of them approached the borders."  
  
"What ever for?!"  
  
"We don't know," Enelya answered. She lowered her voice before continuing, "Éomer thinks that there will be another invasion soon. I am not about to disagree."  
  
"Will there be a war?" Náwien asked quietly, her honey eyes large in horror.  
  
"I hope not!"  
  
"How many lives were taken?"  
  
"Only one, fortunately," Enelya answered, wincing, as she heard Éowyn's words ringing through her ears.   
  
"Éothain?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
Náwien nodded wordlessly, as she saw the pain of the entire event in Enelya's eyes. The two sisters paused for a moment, each thinking their own silent thoughts. Finally, Enelya spoke.  
  
"Excuse me, if you will, Náwien," she said, reaching for her horse. "I am going to the Golden Hall. I must speak with Éowyn and Éomer."  
  
"Let me come with you," Náwien begged.  
  
"No," Enelya said firmly. "It's not a place for you."   
  
Without another thought, she mounted her horse and galloped away towards the gates of the Golden Hall. Náwien stared after her angrily, tears stinging her eyes. She wanted to help…what was wrong with her desire to be of assistance? Wasn't Rohan her city too?  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya reached the gates in a record time, sliding off of her horse quickly. She took the stone stairs two at once, ignoring the strands of blonde hair that fell into her eyes. She halted before the thick doors, her feet coming to a quick standstill on the landing.  
  
Enelya barely heard Háma's voice telling her to remove her weapons. Her eyes were fixed on Wormtongue who lingered by the doors, speaking with one of the other guards. His words seemed to slide around her, filling her ears with the slithery sound of his voice. It became hard for her to breathe, and her eyes widened as she struggled to regain air. Was some sort of spell placed upon her? What was this devilry that enchanted her being? Wormtongue turned his head slowly, catching her staring at him, but Enelya found that she could not bring herself to look away. She was ensnared.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Cliffhanger'y enough for you? He-he-he…Let me know.*~*~ 


	6. The Trance of Truth

~*~*A/N: This fic is too much fun!*~*~  
  
  
  
CHAPTER SIX: The Trance of Truth  
  
  
  
"Well, my dear Shield Maiden," Wormtongue said, stepping towards Enelya, who's eyes widened as he grew near. "Did I not tell you that your efforts would be in vain?"  
  
"We destroyed the band of Orcs," she said, frozen in place. "It was not in vain."  
  
"You did kill the Orcs, but at the cost of one of your best men," he replied eerily. "And they will return. You are foolish to think that you have defeated them for good."  
  
"We know that the Orcs will come back," Enelya countered. "We are no fools. The Riders of Rohan are prepared for another battle."  
  
Wormtongue stared at her for a long moment, his pale blue eyes boring into hers. She squinted, finding that her eyes burned as if fire were placed close to them, but knew that she could not look away. It was too late in the game to break the stare. He took a step closer, his long black cape dragging on the stone landing, and Enelya wondered if any of the guards took notice of the way he was slowly causing her will and self-control to diminish. Wasn't it apparent that a spell had placed on her - that some shadow slipped over her judgement like a thin veil of smoke? Couldn't they see?   
  
He let out a soft laugh, almost a cackle, but too quiet, and turned, heading back inside the Golden Hall. Enelya regained control of her breathing, and she was able to concentrate on the task of unsheathing her sword to lay it on Háma's table. The heavy silence drained from her ears, like water being released, and she was able to hear the sounds of the world once more, yet, she couldn't say that she was relieved. Something about the dizzy hold Wormtongue had over her was intriguing. And she liked the way she felt when she looked at him…as dangerous as it was.   
  
She nodded to Háma and pushed open the doors to the Golden Hall. Once inside, she looked around, wondering where Éowyn could have gone. Neither she nor Éomer were anywhere in sight. Unfamiliar with the rooms of the Golden Hall, Enelya took a guess, and turned left, walking down a sleek corridor. The halls were dark…there was only a dim lighting from the few torches that lined the cold stone walls. Just when she thought it would be wise for her to return to the main entrance, Enelya came to a small room, darkened from the lack of flame or windows. The heavy wooden door was ajar, and she pushed it open fully, stepping inside.   
  
"Hello?" she called quietly.   
  
Enelya jumped in surprise as a light flared from the center of the room. Wormtongue was sitting at a table, holding a candle, staring at her intensely. She swallowed thickly, the fear apparent in her dark blue eyes.  
  
"You are quite different from Lady Éowyn, aren't you," he said slowly.  
  
"Aye…." Enelya's voice was shaky, knowing that she could not back away.  
  
"She values life…the foolish woman, she is, indeed. But you…you understand the importance of success…the worth of true power. Éothain's death meant nothing to you today."  
  
"That's not true," Enelya said, knowing right well that it was.  
  
Wormtongue rose from the table, placing the candle in the center, and he walked to her slowly, never removing his eyes from hers. The trance began once more as she felt herself slipping from reality, every sound fading out with the exception of his dark words…his meaningful words.  
  
"Enelya," he rasped, now inches away from her, "what would you say to ultimate power? If you could control the fate of all Men…what would you do?"  
  
"I care not about power," she struggled to choke out.   
  
"You lie," he said, lifting a finger to stroke the side of her face, his nail raking her soft pale skin.   
  
"I do not," she managed, her hand groping for the door. She wanted desperately to be free…but she felt herself weakening. Her strength would not hold.   
  
  
"Can you fathom what you would be like?" Wormtongue asked, his murky eyes tantalizing her. "You and I, together, Enelya…with the help of Saurman the White…we would be absolute. There would be nothing above us."  
  
"Saruman?" Enelya gasped, ignoring the fact that she yearned for the kind of power he spoke of. He was appealing to every one of her innermost desires, and she was frightened of the side of herself that he could draw forth so easily.   
  
"He is the true ruler," Wormtongue said, his face lighting up as he spoke of the Wizard. "Without him…I would be nothing."  
  
Enelya couldn't believe what she was hearing. Could it be that Wormtongue was dabbling in evil affairs? She couldn't ponder it for long, because he was whispering in her ear in the next moment.  
  
"If you joined with me," he hissed, his hand heavy on her shoulder, "I promise that you would not regret it Think of it, Enelya…the power that you would obtain. The power that you will never get by being a lowly Shield Maiden of Rohan. Here, you will always have to answer to Éowyn, Éomer, and Théoden. But with me…there will be no one to answer to. You will be in control."   
  
Enelya's eyes widened at the mere thought. He was right. In Rohan, she was not listened to. She would always be in service of the King…and even his niece and nephew. Of course, Wormtongue was terrifying…but he was offering her something that she could not refuse.   
  
His hand wandered up to her hair, brushing a few blonde strands away from her face, and he bent his head to hers, kissing her briefly upon the lips. Enelya's blood froze, and she felt cold air in her throat. Her pulse throbbed in absolute fear, but she made no move to pull away. His mouth slipped to her jaw, and then moved down her neck, and she gasped as wave after wave of terror rushed over her. However, there was something so sensual bout his actions that bound her to his will, and she could not move a muscle. She found quickly that her fright mixed with desire, and a new feeling flooded her body. Enelya's hand found the handle of the door, and she held onto it for fear that she might slip to the floor in sheer pleasure and agony.   
  
Suddenly, he paused, pulling back for a moment. In that split second, Enelya was dragged, crashing back down to reality, and she gasped as she realized what she had just done. She wrenched her body away from him, her breathing jagged and raw.  
  
"Stay away," she gasped, holding out her hand, wishing dearly that she had her sword. "Don't come any closer."  
  
Wormtongue laughed, a deep cackle that started at the base of his throat, and grew louder until it hurt her ears to hear any more.   
  
"Don't be a fool, Enelya," he chided. "You've already fallen down the hole of despair. You cannot walk away now."  
  
"Watch me." With the most amount of effort, Enelya turned and fled from the room, tearing down the hall. She knew that if she did not reach the sunlight quickly, she would be compelled to turn around and go back. Wormtongue stared after her for a few moments, a wry smile twisted upon his cracked lips.  
  
"Very well, Enelya," he said to the empty room. "But it will not be long before you return to me. Your destruction has begun."  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien paced back and forth in her bedroom, wondering where Enelya was. She was still seething from being told that she did not belong at the Golden Hall. How she longed to be a part of the elite group of the Shield Maidens…how she desired to be accepted by her sister and Éowyn. Unfortunately, she realized that it would never be so. They would always regard her as a burden - as an insignificant annoyance. She would never be taken seriously as an aspiring sword master. They probably laughed behind her back. She clenched her fists at the utter thought.  
  
Suddenly, she heard footsteps in the hall, and her ears perked up - like a cat's. Enelya must have arrived home.   
  
Curious to see what had occurred at the Golden Hall, she put aside her anger, and ventured out of her room.   
  
"What news do you--"   
  
"Not now."  
  
Enelya pushed past her, and into her own bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. Náwien jumped at the sound, and then narrowed her eyes. Fine. Let Enelya treat her as if she didn't exist. She didn't need her sister's approval anyway.  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya collapsed against the closed door to her room, letting herself sink to the floor, for her knees could not hold her body up any longer. She was terrified at the thoughts running through her head. She never knew that she had such a strong lust for power, but she could not deny the pulsating desire that she was drowning in as she thought of Wormtongue's words. She knew that once nightfall arrived, she would not be able to control herself any longer. She would go to him as soon as the sun went down. It was fated to be that way.  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Wow.*~*~ 


	7. Distant Faces

~*~*A/N: Let me give some words to my reviewers, shall I?  
  
-LADY OF NONE: Thanks for the notes. I'll keep them in mind as I continue to write. And I will try my absolute hardest to keep my promise.  
  
-AINSLEY: I'm glad you enjoy it, and it's nice to know that you relate to Enelya.   
  
-K.C. HUNTER: You and I think alike. Glad to hear we share the same strange mind.   
  
-RONDRAH: Patience, my dear Padowan. Éomer will have a bigger part to play later. Just keep reading!  
  
-SUNFALLING: I'm trying to make my chapters longer, because of what you said. Thanks for the tip.  
  
-RIDERS OF ROHAN: I love you! ;)  
  
-KEYZA: There's lots to do…have faith in my tempo.  
  
Okay, that's it! Thanks oh-so much for all the reviews…I'm REALLY glad you all like this! Now, without any further procrastination…here's the next bit.*~*~  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN: Distant Faces  
  
  
  
Éomer approached his sister cautiously, who was kneeling by the King's side. Théoden sat in his throne, his eyes looking out over the head of his niece, but seeing nothing. There was a blank faraway look in his eyes, one that could not be read so easily. Éowyn grasped his hand, the skin feeling paper-thin and dry. Éomer watched as she bent her head, a tear dropping from her eye. She knew that Théoden was not himself; something fogged his mind dangerously. What it was, no one could tell.  
  
"Éowyn," Éomer finally called, startling her accidentally. He held up a hand, a silent apology for making her jump, and she regained her composure at her leisure.   
  
"Good day, my brother," she said quietly, standing. "Is something the matter?"  
  
"We have made plans to bury Éothain," he told her, watching as her eyes glazed over at the mention of the fallen Rider. He studied her face carefully, understanding the pain reflected in her expression. Her heart was covered with a rim of ice, freezing her blood with fear for Rohan. Éomer related to the emotions - he knew exactly what she was thinking just by looking at her for a moment in time.  
  
"What will happen?" she whispered, perhaps to herself. "What will happen to Rohan if the King cannot even acknowledge the death of one of his best men?"  
  
"Théoden is far from us," Éomer agreed silently.  
  
"He looks at us," Éowyn continued, "…he is watching our faces right now. But he does not know that we stand before him. We may as well not even be here, for he does not notice our presence."   
  
"What could have taken him?" Éomer wondered aloud. "Is it the weary exhaustion of old age? Or perhaps the bitter effect of a spell?"  
  
"Either way," Éowyn said, "his change has a negative effect on Rohan."  
  
"There is nothing we can do now," Éomer said sadly, reaching for his sister's arm. "Come. I know you want to pay your respects to Éothain's grave."   
  
Éowyn nodded, allowing Éomer to pull her gently from the Throne Room. They walked together through the halls, and out to the stone landing. Below, in the grass, the other Riders stood, their heads bent in sorrow. Éowyn watched, her jaw open slightly as Éothain's body was lowered into the ground. She was frozen with grief for a few moments before descending the stairs, Éomer not far behind. She sank to her knees; the entire event and state of the world was too much for her to bear. She was worried…so worried for Théoden, for herself, and for Rohan.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien knocked on her sister's door lightly. The sun was heavy in the sky, and day was slowly dwindling. The initial anger of being left out of the Riders' affairs was fading, and now she wanted only to find her sister and see what was wrong.  
  
"Enelya?" she called quietly, not wanted to disturb her if she was asleep. Náwien pushed open the door slightly, peeking her head inside. Enelya was sitting on her bed, staring thoughtfully out the window. Her eyes were clouded over, and the deep orange glow of the sun reflected in her shiny irises. Náwien approached her sister carefully, unsure of the meaning for her heavy silence.  
  
"Enelya," she said softly, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. Náwien lifted a hand to her shoulder, concern written all over her pretty face. "What happened today? Why do you seek such solitude?"  
  
Slowly, Enelya turned to her, and Náwien's eyes widened as she caught a glance at her sister's expression. Her mouth was set in an emotionless line and her eyes were hard and cold. Her stare was blank and void, as if she wasn't taking anything in but the unsteady air around her. Náwien searched Enelya's face, peering at the curves and features that she knew so well, and was shocked to find that she appeared to be no more than a complete stranger. Her distant gaze was unrecognizable, and Náwien could only wonder what sort of devilry had taken hold of her.   
  
A low and threatening rumble of thunder rolled through the atmosphere, and Náwien's gaze snapped to the window, smelling the sultry breeze that only signified rain. Enelya noticed it too, and she stood, walking towards the door.  
  
"Where are you going?" Náwien cried, rising in an instant. "I thought we were going to dine together tonight."  
  
Enelya paused, her hand wrapped around the door handle. Her back was facing Náwien, but she could tell that Enelya was considering something…her hesitation screamed of uncertainty.   
  
"Well?" Náwien asked, her feet rooted to the floor by the bed. She didn't dare walk to her sister, for her strange actions frightened her.   
  
Thunder clapped in the distance again, and the noise seemed to jolt Enelya back into movement. She pulled open the door and stepped into the hall.  
  
"Where are you GOING?" Náwien asked, still afraid to approach her. "Rain is going to pour from the skies any instant, and, unless I am mistaken, you do not have anywhere to be."  
  
Enelya turned, regarding her with a look that was impossible to decipher.   
  
"I shall be back later," she replied, speaking to her for the first time that evening. "Wait up if you wish. I know not the hour that I will return."  
  
Without another word, sigh, or glance, Enelya left the room, leaving Náwien to wonder what strange magic was at work. She heard the front door open and then slam shut. There was something in the air, Náwien noticed. Even she, as young and innocent as she was, could sense it.  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya shivered in the rain, contemplating returning to the warmth of her house. She could light a fire…and cook a hot stew for her and Náwien to eat. The very thought was delicious, and she almost did turn around, but the stronger side of her won out, as she knew it would. She mounted her horse, ignoring the water that pounded down, soaking her hair, face, and clothes. With the night sky present, her growing desire was stronger, and it swelled inside of her like a flame in contact with oil. She was, of course, terrified of what would occur at the Golden Hall if she rode to visit Wormtongue, but her curiosity and longing were greater than all her fears combined. If anything, his words were what drove her. His voice echoed in her mind; his promises of power were all that she could hear.   
  
"We would be absolute," he had told her. "There would be nothing above us."  
  
"Nothing above us," she whispered, her lips chattering in the bitter night. Her horse galloped through the empty streets of Rohan, splashing in puddles and spraying water everywhere. As she grew nearer to the Golden Hall, Enelya's pulse quickened - her heart began to hammer in her chest, so loud that she was sure the entire world could hear. Her eyes were wild with anticipation - she could not arrive at the Royal House fast enough. It was time. She needed what Wormtongue had promised her.  
  
~*~  
  
Háma sighed, seeing Éowyn's friend - the other Shield Maiden - hurrying up the stone stairs.  
  
"Halt," he commanded in a bored tone. He was growing tired of repeating the same phrases over and over to ungrateful visitors. "Before I can allow you inside the Golden Hall, you must--"  
  
Enelya pushed past him, practically knocking him over. Háma stared in shock at her physical strength and sheer audacity to shove an official guard of King Théoden's Golden Hall. Before he could utter another word, she was marching through the double doors, armed. Háma remained frozen in surprise. What had caught him off guard the most was not the way she acted, but the crazed gleam in Enelya's eyes. It almost made him afraid of her.  
  
~*~  
  
A torch on a nearby wall sent a flame flickering in the dim room, shadows dancing upon the floor. Wormtongue followed the shapes with his eyes, intrigued by the dark forms below his feet. Suddenly, a noise from outside caught his attention, and he snapped his head up, listening to the wind howl against the stone building.  
  
She had come back to him. Just as he thought.  
  
Wormtongue smiled, a slow evil grin, and stood, prepared to meet his guest at the front doors before she could change her mind. As if she could.   
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: I apologize for the short length of this chapter. There's just other stuff I want to do…and…yeah. Trust me.*~*~ 


	8. Submission

~*~*A/N: Wow…25 reviews already! I'm feeling the love. Thanks, guys. Here's some thoughts to those of you who took the time to review this story.  
  
-MORGAN LE FAYE: Oh, I will.  
  
-EROMEAHIEL: Your comment really was inspiring. Thank you so much! It's those kinds of reviews that are wonderful presents to an author.  
  
-HERODIAS: Glad I've been an exception to your "I hate OC's" rule. Also, I appreciate your tips - I never considered the thought of characters addressing Wormtongue as Gríma (why? Because my brain just doesn't think of everything that it should hehe) - thank you for pointing that out.   
  
-K.C. HUNTER: Yes, TTT is a fabulous movie.  
  
-FRYING PAN GIRL: Glad to hear you're enjoying.  
  
-KITT-KATT: I'm glad you think so, because I was especially trying to portray Éowyn's fear for Rohan accurately. And, get your butt up and go see TTT. ;)  
  
-MS. BIBBIT: Wonderful to know that there are other adoring Dourif fans out there!! Keep checking my story, I'm planning on updating at least once a day, if not more.  
  
-RONDRAH: Yeah, Éomer is a lot older than Náwien, but…who cares? Hehe. Plus, their "romance" (IF you can even call it THAT), will not be what you'd expect, and it's not going to have a big part to play in the story. However, Éomer is going to become a very important character. Stay tuned.  
  
Okay, with that…enjoy the next bit!  
  
  
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CHAPTER EIGHT: Submission  
  
  
"Do you hear that?" Éomer asked, sitting upright. Éowyn barely acknowledged his voice, as she was deep in thought, and not willing to make conversation with her brother.   
  
"It sounds as if there's someone outside," Éomer said, striding to the doorway.   
  
"Perhaps it is your student," Éowyn suggested in a monotonous voice. "She came in the rain last time, did she not?"  
  
"I'm not to see her for another week," he replied. "And this storm is worse than before. It holds a new power."  
  
"So go look outside if you do so desire."  
  
Éomer nodded, ignoring his sister's edgy tone of voice, and walked to the main Doors. He poked his head outside, recoiling from the force of the cold wind. There was no one in sight, but he could not see very far. He did not know what might have been lurking past the trees that swayed in the harsh flurry of raindrops. Before his curiosity and imagination could get the better of him, Éomer quickly shut the door, and turned back to the warmth of the Golden Hall. He forced himself to believe that the noises he heard were only caused by the howling of the nighttime air against the stone walls and not an enemy.   
  
Éomer walked back to join his sister, failing to notice the visitor that slipped by oh-so-softy into the Golden Hall.  
  
~*~  
  
"You've returned."  
  
Enelya's eyes traveled upwards to meet the pale blue gaze of Wormtongue. She nodded wordlessly, bound to her fate.   
  
"Come. Before they can find you."  
  
She followed Wormtongue through the dark narrow halls, feeling the dank cold air of the stones around her seep through her skin and into her heart. He lead her into a small room, and she entered first, hearing the heavy wooden door slam shut behind her - the firm closure to her certain downfall. Enelya closed her eyes, seeing nothing but flame and violence behind her darkened lids. She felt Wormtongue's hand, heavy upon her shoulder, and as his skin touched hers, she felt the greatest surge of energy flow through her veins. It was as if someone had lit a sparkler, and dropped it from a high peak to watch it surge and soar throughout the shadowed sky. Images of war and destruction flashed through her thoughts. Her mind was filled with premonitions that were more terrible than anything she'd ever witnessed. She saw a great tower, and a massive army below it, made up of hideous Orcs. At the top of this tower, on an elevated balcony, she saw herself standing with Wormtongue. She nearly gasped aloud at the sight of herself…she looked wonderfully wicked and beautiful…her long black dress flapping in the murky wind. Her blonde hair was pinned atop her head, leaving her features to look sharp and precise. The powerful gleam in her eyes was seductive and alluring. Enelya noticed, in her vision, a third person on the balcony - a man, dressed in white robes. She knew that this must be Saruman the White Wizard that Wormtongue had spoke of. The three of them together would be unstoppable.   
  
Wormtongue removed his hand from her shoulder then, and, like a fire doused with water, Enelya fell back down to reality, her eyes snapping open at once. She took a deep breath of air, finding that she was having trouble regaining her breath. Wormtongue circled her, coming to rest a few feet in front of her. He placed a finger underneath her chin and gently raised her face to him, forcing her to meet his gaze.  
  
"Have you decided?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.   
  
"Yes," she replied, surprised at the blank sound of her own voice. "I much desire all that you have to offer me."  
  
"You aren't like the other Shield Maidens," he stated, as if he was speaking the answer to a riddle that nobody could solve. "I knew this as soon as I saw you. You are greater than all of them combined." His voice was monotonous and thick, like he was placing a spell upon her. His eyes were a trap, she knew. If she fell, she would never return from his captivity.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You do not care about a meaningless soldier's death."  
  
"Yes…."  
  
"Your power is more valuable than the lives of your soldiers."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You wish to help the power of Isengard. You long to become the person that you know you can easily transform into."  
  
Enelya nodded, fully entranced.   
  
"Then it is agreed," Wormtongue confirmed for her. "There is nothing remaining to question."  
  
She nodded again, and did not falter when he bent his head to hers, his cold lips on her mouth. She was submitting herself now…surrendering had never held such a fulfilling aftertaste. The kiss was rough, and filled with superiority. He owned her.  
  
Wormtongue's clammy hands dropped to the back of her dress, and Enelya's breath shortened as she felt the ties loosen. She knew that she would be forced to do his bidding permanently if she continued. There would be no way to save her from the shadow that was slowly forming a shield around her heart…no way out.   
  
But Wormtongue had been right. She had made her decision.  
  
Her dress slipped to the ground soundlessly, and she kicked it behind her, knocking all reminders of who she was out of the way. Enelya's hands found their way to his oily black hair, driven by her uncontrollable lust for all that he'd promised her. The two fell to the floor simultaneously, and she found that the stone was icy cold against her smooth back. As he moved atop her, Enelya's eyes grew wild, and she realized that no matter how wide she opened them, she could not see a thing.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien sighed, looking out the window into the torrential rain. The hour was growing very late, and she feared for her sister's safety. Enelya hadn't stated when she was going to return, but Náwien had expected her to be earlier. She did not doubt that Enelya had visited the Golden Hall to speak with Éomer and Éowyn once again, but she knew that even the royalty of Rohan needed some sleep. She could only hope that Enelya had not been detected by Orcs. As Náwien turned this possibility over in her mind, her panic and worry increased. If another band of Orcs were on the move, her sister would have been vulnerable, riding alone in the rain. She would not be able to defend herself properly.   
  
On a whim, Náwien grabbed her sword and sheath, strapping it to her waist. She would do what she knew Enelya would do for her, had the situation been reversed. It was only right.   
  
Náwien opened the door, wincing at the roaring winds and violent rain. The storm was bad enough, she thought, to keep Orcs at home. Nevertheless, Náwien mounted her horse, and rode off in hopes to find her sister before the enemy could.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Yeah. Good thinking Náwien. Riiight.*~*~ 


	9. The Hero Must Wait

~*~*A/N: Words to the wise!  
  
-EROMEAHIEL: Glad to be inspiring!   
  
-K.C. HUNTER: Same to you…I'm glad to feed your muse. I'm going to check out your story as soon as I can.  
  
-KITT-KATT: Happy you liked…and keep bothering your mum! Let me know what you think of TTT when you see it.  
  
-RONDRAH: I enjoyed writing that scene. ;) And don't fret…Éomer will shine.  
  
-AINSLEY: Power = greatness  
  
-LADY OF NONE: Enelya rocks, I agree. And, yeah, I have a map. I know where I'm going…just not sure of the route I'm planning on taking in order to get there.   
  
Have fun with this chapter everyone!  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
CHAPTER NINE: The Hero Must Wait  
  
  
The raindrops were as fierce as blades, and they fell down upon Náwien roughly as she rode her horse on the deserted road. Her skin grew slick from the water, and the liquid streamed down her face and trickled between her lips, so she could taste the coldness on her tongue. Her horse's mane was matted to his body, utterly soaked. Braving the weather still, Náwien pressed on, heading for the borders of Rohan where she knew the battle had taken place earlier.  
  
As Náwien neared the edges of the city, she smelled the foul stench of rotten carcasses in the air. The bodies of the dead Orcs were beginning to rot. She wrinkled her nose in distaste, but did not turn around. Once she reached the site for the battle, she dismounted and walked through the soggy grass, her shoes sinking into the wet leaves and dirt. A sudden shiver rippled through her body, and goosebumps appeared on her skin immediately after. Náwien wondered briefly if she should go home; if there were Orcs nearby, she did not know if she could kill them alone. If Enelya or Éomer knew what she was doing, they'd be furious at her stupidity. She could practically hear their chiding voices in her mind. "What's gotten into you, Náwien?" they'd cry. "Have you gone mad? You'd be killed by Orcs immediately."  
  
Náwien clenched her fists and narrowed her pale brown eyes at the thought. She hated the way she was thought of by her sister and teacher. Both pretended to have faith in her, but she knew that they probably laughed when she wasn't listening. Her persistence wasn't admirable in their eyes, but only amusing. She knew when she wasn't taken seriously…but she wished so much that she would be respected the way Enelya and Éowyn were. The feelings of doubt and sadness that fogged her mind were enough to drive her forward. She would show them all her true quality.   
  
"Hello?" she called in the pounding rain. "Enelya? Are you here? Are you hurt?"  
  
There was no answer, save for the howling of the wind and occasional clap of thunder. She continued to search the immediate area, stepping daintily around the dead bodies that littered the ground. It didn't take long for Náwien to see that she was very much alone at the borders. Her sister was nowhere to be found, and there were no Orcs nearby either. She sighed, and trudged back to where her horse was waiting. Her efforts to save find her sister had been in vain, but as she climbed atop her brown horse, she wondered if she left her house for the purpose of helping Enelya or for the glory of saving the day. Náwien bit her lip thoughtfully. Perhaps her motivation was derived from the wrong sources, but she had done a good deed either way. It was almost impossible for her to put aside her desires to display her bravery that was tremendously underestimated by many. She sighed, riding off. Náwien knew that one day, she would be able to prove to Éomer and Enelya that she, too, was capable of destroying a certain evil. Until that day, however, she just had to be patient. That moment, she needed to concentrate on finding her sister. Being a hero would just have to wait.  
  
"Come on," she muttered to her horse, wishing she knew Elvish to whisper in his ear. She licked the raindrops from her lips and pushed her dripping hair from her eyes, clearing her sight. "To the Golden Hall."  
  
If Enelya was still at the Royal House, then Náwien would be assured that she was safe. And if she wasn't, then perhaps Éomer and Éowyn would help her search. She was sure that they would be just as worried as she, for Éowyn and Enelya were good friends, and Éomer was a kind man, despite all she suspected. It wasn't like her sister to stay out so late with no explanation, and Náwien was determined to know that she was all right before laying down to sleep 'til the dawn.   
  
~*~  
  
Enelya gathered her clothes, dressing in silence, feeling pensive. She knew that somewhere…deep inside her heart…the good person that she once was still existed. Where that version of her had gone, she did not know, for now only the shadowed side of her mind was present. Her strong desires and wishes had taken full hold, and she knew that she would not be able to return to her old ways ever again. She looked over at Wormtongue, who also was quiet. He was probably rejoicing in his victory, as she was mourning the death of herself, as well as also celebrating the birth of her new life.  
  
"Can I go home?" she asked aloud, her voice surprising him.  
  
"Back to your house?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Is that what you want?"  
  
Enelya nodded, thinking of her bed, and how she longed to go to sleep. Everything that he promised her would still exist in the morning, wouldn't it?  
  
"Then go," Wormtongue said, extending his hand and gesturing to the doorway. "I am not holding you a prisoner here."  
  
Enelya gave him a doubtful look before taking a few steps towards the door.  
  
"You will be back," he called after her. It was not a question, but a statement. "Do not forget all that I told you."  
  
"How could I?" she replied, smiling eerily as he approached her. "Do not worry, Gríma. I cannot turn from this…you said it yourself…I've fallen too fast, and too hard. I'm in too deep."  
  
Wormtongue nodded and raised a hand to her face, touching her smooth skin, caressing her cheekbone softly as she continued her speech.  
  
"I will come back," she swore, "as long as you keep your promise."  
  
"My promise?"  
  
"That we will share power," Enelya explained. "That I will become more powerful than I've ever imagined."   
  
Wormtongue smiled upon hearing her words. He knew that she would give into him eventually, and she just had. The transformation of her personality was incredible, he noted, and he was beyond thrilled to see her dark side begin to take recognizable form. Her beauty was greater when her dark blue eyes were sparkling with lust for destruction, and he was astounded by the seductiveness that radiated from her newfound aura.   
  
"Will you keep your promise?" she asked again, this time, her voice edgy.  
  
"Aye, I will," Wormtongue answered, his eyes flickering over her face, studying her unfamiliar expression.   
  
"Then I will keep mine."  
  
He lowered his mouth to hers again, in farewell. He felt a change in her lips, for she took control of the kiss, not letting him lead for a moment. Before he could react, Enelya pulled away, raising an eyebrow slightly, and turned to leave. Wormtongue stared after her for a few moments, his lips twisted in a wry smile. He was delighted with the happenings of the evening. So far, everything was moving smoothly along in his plan.  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya carefully walked down the halls, making sure that a single person didn't spot her. She knew that her eyes had a wild glimmer in them…she could feel it in the way they burned behind her lids. If anyone saw her expression, they would wonder what had happened, and she did not know if she could speak without appearing completely transparent. One look at her would tell all. She felt as if her agreement with Wormtongue was written all over her face, and, as if to rub away all the traces of her pact, she raised a hand gingerly to her forehead, pressing it against her skin.   
  
With a careful look around her, Enelya slipped out a side door of the Golden Hall, descending a steep stone staircase to the wet grass. She did not notice Náwien approaching the gates atop her brown horse, for she ran in the opposite direction to where she'd left her own horse. Regaining control of her breathing, she rode off towards her house, the crazed look never leaving her blue eyes.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: That took me nearly three hours. I was so blocked. Meep!*~*~ 


	10. Worthy

~*~*A/N: In the worst mood. Hopefully, this will make me feel better. Here's some stuff for y'all.  
  
-KALENNIPHREDIL: It is kind of gross, isn't it? But you know you love it.  
  
-RACHEL: I've uncovered the Pervy Wormtongue Fanciers of ff.net! Yes! Join the club! ;)  
  
-RONDRAH: Yep, Enelya has crossed to the Dark Side. And if you ever feel like being daring and writing an Éomer fic of your own, let me know, and I'll read it.  
  
-MORGAN: Creepy, you say? Good. That's the effect I was going for!  
  
-SUNSONG: While I'm glad to hear that you enjoy the fic, I'm confused on your comments. A) I believe it is very possible to fence in a dress. And B) Names? Places? Please be more specific because I don't understand what you're saying.  
  
-CHEERIOS4SALE: Patience, my Padowan. Náwien and Éomer will become more important characters. Just wait.  
  
-FRYING PAN GIRL: Irish jigs are great. And I'm glad you like the story.  
  
-RIDERS OF ROHAN: Again, I love you!  
  
-K.C. HUNTER: Yeah, I'm trying to make Náwien a stronger character. And I love the beginning of your own story so far, as you already know.  
  
-HATHOR: Happy you're enjoying!  
  
-MS. BIBBIT: You're hilarious. And I wish I could be Enelya as well.  
  
-LADY OF NONE: Seriously. Who wouldn't? And I'm sorry for the shortness. I'll try to make this one longer.  
  
Okay, here's more.  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
CHAPTER TEN: Worthy  
  
  
Náwien rushed up the stone stairs before the Golden Hall, making a mad dash for the double doors. One of the guards stepped in front of her, holding out his hand. She looked up at him, noting his tired expression and weary eyes.  
  
"What business brings you here so late?"  
  
"I need to speak with Éomer," she answered, shivering almost uncontrollably. Why didn't she wear a shawl? The guard gave her a quick once-over before nodding slightly.  
  
"I cannot allow you inside so armed," he said, gesturing to her sword. He seemed as though he was exhausted from repeating the same command so many times. Náwien could read his thoughts easily as they were displayed upon his face like ink on paper. "You must lay your weapon on this table before entering the Golden Hall."  
  
Náwien crushed an urge to roll her eyes and reached for her sword, her hands shaking like a leaf from the cold. She placed her blade upon the broad, wooden table, and moved towards the doors. The guard stepped out of the way and allowed her to pass through. Unsure of where she was headed, Náwien walked through the main hall, calling Éomer's name loudly. It wasn't long before she heard heavy footsteps from a nearby room, and she turned, almost colliding with the Rider.   
  
"Náwien," he exclaimed once he regained his composure, for he was startled by her presence. "What are you doing here at such a late hour?"  
  
"Have you seen my sister?"  
  
"Enelya?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Nay, I have not…why do you ask? Is she missing?"  
  
Náwien nodded, sighing with frustration and concern. She turned from him, pacing in the small room, noting how the stone walls appeared to be closing in on her.   
  
"I don't know where she could have disappeared to," she said, almost to herself. "I'm worried about her. What if Orcs took her?"   
  
Éomer's eyes snapped up to hers at this, and she could see the panic flicker through his expression. She continued talking carelessly without taking heed to the words that flowed easily from her lips.  
  
"I've already checked the borders," Náwien told him. "There was no sign of her there, or any Orcs for that matter. I was certain that she'd be here, but--"  
  
"I beg your pardon," Éomer interrupted, his brown eyes widening. "What did you just say?"  
  
Náwien bit her lip, realizing that she should not have spoken of her journey to the edges of Rohan. She had known that Éomer would not approve, and she briefly wondered if she confessed of her ride deliberately. Perhaps she *wanted* him to lecture her…to show that he cared. Just as soon she considered this, she pushed the thoughts from her mind, closing her eyes briefly to block out any strange ideas that were floating through her head.   
  
"Náwien," Éomer said firmly, his tone grave. "Do you mean to say that you rode to the borders alone tonight?"  
  
"Aye," she replied softly, lowering her gaze to the floor.   
  
"Don't you understand how foolishly dangerous that was?" he scolded, stepping towards her. "What would you have done if there was another band of Orcs on the move? You would have been killed instantly - you have not the skill to defend yourself properly against Orcs or goblins."  
  
"I thought that you said I was improving," Náwien said, her voice quiet. Éomer sighed.  
  
"You are getting better," he answered, "but you are not ready to fight Orcs. I was wrong to give you a false impression."  
  
Náwien nodded slowly with understanding and she felt a bitter taste rise in her throat. So she had been right. Éomer did not have as much faith in her as he let on. He probably did laugh at her behind her back. She was an utter fool to think that he truly believed she could become a talented Shield Maiden.  
  
"You should not have gone to the borders," Éomer continued. "It was a serious mistake that could have resulted in your death. Promise me that you will not take such risks like that again."  
  
"I was only trying to help Enelya--"  
  
"What help would you have been if you were killed?" Éomer interrupted loudly. He sighed again, as if he regretted raising his voice to her. He placed a hand upon her shoulder, heavy with comfort. Náwien pushed him away roughly and took a step back, her honey-colored eyes wide with anger and disbelief. She shook her head slowly, astounded by his words. Éomer was her teacher…her guide. And now she felt as if he'd betrayed her, even though he was only doing what he thought was best. Náwien knew deep in her heart that Éomer was right, but she could not see past her initial pain, and it blinded her thoughts and emotions. She continued to walk backwards, away from Éomer, determined not to let him touch her.   
  
"Náwien," he said, the one word in itself an apology.   
  
"If I were to die," she said, her manner cold and biting, "then I would rather die heroically than alone in my bed from the passage of time."  
  
Éomer stared at her, openmouthed, shocked at the determined words that she spoke with such ease. For such a young girl, her ambitions were hard as steel, and her willpower that of gold. It caught him off guard, and, before he could respond, she'd whirled on her heel and stormed out of the Golden Hall.  
  
"Náwien!" he yelled after her, his voice echoing in the empty room, repeating the sound of her name over and over until it was no more than a distant whisper.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien grumbled to herself incoherently as she mounted her horse and took off for her small house. She'd heard Éomer call after her, and she could not say that she wasn't pleased. At least she'd made that much of an impact as to be worthy of second thoughts. She knew that she would not stay angry with Éomer forever, and it would not be long before they reconciled. In fact, as she rode towards home, her anger began to slowly subside. Náwien was able to admit that she was not cross with Éomer, but with herself, rather. She wanted so much to prove her ability that evening, and she'd let herself down. She was disappointed in herself, and the feeling of regret was a thousand times worse than the brief fury she felt towards Éomer.  
  
Náwien's thoughts slowly dwindled as she took notice of a light in the window of her house. Could it be that Enelya was home?   
  
She dismounted quickly, and, in record speed, burst through the front door, shouting her sister's name. There was no response, but Náwien saw the shimmer of a candle from the kitchen, and she followed the warmth and glow through the hall. Enelya was, indeed, sitting at the table, her eyes fixed on the flame before her.   
  
"Enelya?" Náwien said softly, approaching her with caution. There was something strange at work in the air…something was unsettled. Enelya slowly turned to her, bearing the same blank expression that she wore earlier.   
  
"Where have you been?" Náwien asked, daring to voice a question. Enelya took a long time to answer, her blue eyes blazing in the heat of the candle's flame.   
  
"I was at the Golden Hall," she finally replied, raising her eyes to Náwien's.   
  
Náwien stared at her incredulously, as if she didn't believe her.   
  
"What do you give me that ill-favored look for?" Enelya asked, her oceanic eyes narrowing.   
  
"I was just at the Golden Hall myself," Náwien answered, raising her eyebrows doubtfully.   
  
"Are you suggesting that I am a liar?" she questioned in a frighteningly soft voice. Náwien frowned, confused at her sister's odd tone.   
  
"No, I am just saying th--"  
  
She was cut off as Enelya grabbed her arm roughly, her eyes flaring in rage. Náwien let out a slight cry, surprised at the force at which Enelya squeezed her long fingers around the soft, pale skin of her arm.   
  
"I never lie to you," Enelya hissed, tightening her grip. "I am your sister. If you cannot trust me, who can you trust?"  
  
Náwien remained speechless. Her words were kind, but her tone horrid. She was terrified by Enelya's strange behavior, and she tried to pull away. On a whim, Enelya let go of her arm, and Náwien practically dropped to the floor from the sudden release. She quickly regained her footing, and leapt backwards, rubbing her skin where Enelya had seized her.   
  
"Don't forget," Enelya continued, her eyes still frozen. "I'm the only one you can seek faith in, Náwien. Don't give your trust to the wrong people."  
  
Náwien stared at her sister in shock and confusion. What was Enelya talking about? Her words were incredibly puzzling, but before she could ponder her meaning, she walked out of the room. As Enelya pushed past her, Náwien could have sworn she felt an icy chill slither down her spine, and she shivered from the breeze. She turned, staring after her for a few moments. Náwien was determined to discover the meaning for Enelya's change in personality. There was a dark mystery to solve, and she, if anyone, could uncover the truth.  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Took me a while…hope you enjoyed.*~*~ 


	11. Sunrise with No Avail

~*~*A/N: So I just had another great idea for a new story…but I think I'll wait until I finish this one. If I start my new fic, I'll never finish this Wormtongue one, and then you'll all kill me. Which wouldn't be good. So here you go.  
  
-GRACE: I agree!!!!!!!! You are so unbelievably right. OC's are not necessarily Mary-Sue's.   
  
-TARA: Glad you like.  
  
-RACHEL: Oh, Gríma will have some more evil'ness, I promise. And…yes…pervy. ;)  
  
-HATHOR: Dying of curiosity? Hope you don't kick it before the story's finished! Hehe.  
  
-K.C. HUNTER: Meeble? Is that a good thing?  
  
-RONDRAH: Yep, you smell the fight too? And I am a New Yorker, as it says in my Bio. Also, if you want to email me some of the story that you write, go right ahead, and I will give you my honest opinion and advice. Mary-Sue's don't have to be bad.  
  
-COBALT: I'm with you…I'd take Wormtongue to Leggy any day. And I'm glad I've got your muse going.  
  
-SUNFALLING: Thank you. I'm very happy you're enjoying this.  
  
-LADY OF NONE: Yeah, wouldn't be happy if I had a sister who wigged out like that either. And Éomer rocks my world as well. Hehe.   
  
  
Here's some more!  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Sunrise with No Avail  
  
  
  
Éowyn walked slowly through the stone halls, wondering whom her brother had been yelling at earlier. She had spent most of the evening in the Throne Room, kneeling by her uncle's side, wishing that there was something she could do to bring him back to his former glory. However, if he was under some sort of wicked spell, there was nothing she would be able to do to cure him, for she knew not any Elvish magic or wizardry. All Éowyn could do was dare to hope.  
  
"Éomer?" she called, stepping into a small room to find her brother sitting in a chair by himself, looking deep in thought. He looked up upon hearing her voice, and nodded to her in greeting.  
  
"I thought you would be asleep," Éomer said, noticing the gown that she still wore from earlier that day.  
  
"I cannot even swallow the thought of sleep," Éowyn answered. "Every time I close my eyes, I am afraid that something terrible will happen while I rest. I feel as if it is my duty to keep watch over Rohan…to do what Théoden cannot." She paused. "From what I see, it seems as though you cannot sleep either."  
  
Éomer sighed and stood to face her.   
  
"Nay, I will not find rest here tonight."  
  
"Who were you talking with before?" Éowyn questioned, bringing up the real reason she sought his company. "I heard you raising your voice."  
  
"I was speaking to Náwien," Éomer replied. "She came by the Golden Hall looking for her sister."  
  
"Enelya?" Éowyn said in confusion. "But she was not here tonight."  
  
"I know," he stated. "Náwien rode to the borders in search of Enelya, hoping that she was not taken by Orcs."  
  
"The borders?!"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Has she gone absolutely mad?" Éowyn cried, her eyes wide in disbelief. "If Náwien had been ambushed by Orcs, she would have been slain without a--"  
  
"That is exactly what I told her," Éomer interrupted. "She, in turn, grew cross with me. I do not blame her; I suppose I gave her the wrong impression by mistake the last time that she visited me for a lesson."  
  
"I told you that you were wrong to give her false hope!" Éowyn chided.  
  
"And you were right," he admitted ruefully. "By telling her such things, I jeopardized her life. If Náwien had been killed tonight by the Orcs, I don't know what I would do with myself. It would have been my fault."  
  
"Nay, my brother, do not torture yourself with that game," Éowyn said, approaching him to place a hand on his arm. "If Náwien had been hurt tonight, it would have been a tragedy, but it did not happen. There is no use wasting precious time with foolish questions of 'what if' that cannot be answered."  
  
Éomer nodded, knowing that she was correct. She pressed on.  
  
"Let us just be thankful that nothing happened to Náwien tonight," Éowyn continued. "The only thing you can do is make sure that you do not give her any more wrong ideas in the future. You are her teacher, Éomer. You are supposed to guide her and help her become wise."  
  
Éomer nodded, her words weighing him down with guilt. He knew that it wasn't truly his fault, but her tone inflicted feelings of remorse upon him.   
  
"Did Náwien ever find Enelya?" Éowyn asked, changing the subject quickly, as she caught on to her brother's emotions.  
  
"I do not know," Éomer answered honestly. "She left before I could advise her on where to look,"   
  
Éowyn frowned, wondering where her friend could have disappeared.  
  
"If she was here," she said slowly, "we didn't notice. But there is someone who can tell us for sure."  
  
Éomer followed her out into the hallway in confusion. Where was she leading him?  
  
~*~  
  
Háma sighed, standing underneath a stone ledge to keep him dry in the rain. Part of him would like to retreat to the warmth of the Golden Hall, but, as the only guard awake, he knew his duty to the King. And Wormtongue would have his head if he left the doors open for attack. Háma knew there was nothing to do besides brave the stormy weather and bitter cold as he had been doing for many nights.   
  
Suddenly, the doors behind him opened, and he turned, surprised to see Lady Éowyn and her brother Éomer venture out into the night beside him. Háma bowed on instinct, and then raised his head, curious as to what lead them outside at such an hour.  
  
"Were there any visitors this evening?" Éowyn asked him.  
  
"Two, my Lady," Háma answered. "A young girl, most recently, and one of your friends, Éowyn."   
  
Éowyn and Éomer shared a look, and she turned, looking at her brother with a look as if to say, "I knew it!"  
  
"Is it Enelya that you speak of?" she asked, although she already knew the answer.   
  
"I believe so," Háma said with a nod.   
  
"What time did she come to the Golden Hall?"  
  
"It was a few hours ago, my lady. But she did not remove her weapon when I gave my command, and she pushed past me and barged through the doors without warning."  
  
"What would cause her to do such a thing?" Éomer wondered aloud, his dark eyes widening in surprise. Éowyn shook her head slowly, miffed by the news that Háma bore.  
  
"And how did she come into the Golden Hall without us knowing about it?" she questioned, her eyes flittering to slits as she pondered this mystery.  
  
"What business would she want here if she didn't come to see you?" Éomer added, frowning.  
  
They both turned to Háma, who shrugged.  
  
"Do not look to me for answers," he said. "I know nothing of this matter."  
  
"Come," Éomer suggested, gesturing towards the doors with a jerk of his head. "Perhaps we can look for answers inside. There must be someone who saw her after she entered the Hall."  
  
"Thank you for your assistance," Éowyn said to Háma, as she and her brother turned to walk back into the Royal House.  
  
"I could only wonder who…."  
  
Éomer trailed off as he caught sight of a large shadow across the wall. He narrowed his eyes, seeing Gríma Wormtongue shuffle through the hallway.   
  
"It appears as though we've found our informer."   
  
Éowyn's face twisted in disgust; she could not take the sight of Wormtongue. She despised him with every fiber of her being.  
  
"Gríma," Éomer called loudly, catching his attention. Slowly, Wormtongue turned, his pale blue eyes frosting over with an emotion that was unreadable as he caught sight of Éomer and Éowyn approaching him.  
  
"Have you seen my friend, Enelya?" Éowyn asked, making sure not to let any friendliness slip into her voice.   
  
"Enelya?"  
  
"Aye. She is a Shield Maiden like myself."  
  
Wormtongue flicked his gaze over Éowyn's face, letting his stare linger for a moment too long, knowing that his presence made her completely uncomfortable. Éowyn returned the stare for a few seconds, before faltering, and she looked down at the floor.  
  
"I cannot say that I've seen her," Wormtongue answered finally. "But I shall keep an eye open. Or both eyes, if you'd rather."  
  
Without another word, Wormtongue turned, and continued down the hall.  
  
"Was he lying to us?" Éomer asked, his voice soft but his tone dark.  
  
"I do not doubt it."  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya lay in bed, staring, wide-awake at the ceiling. Her mouth felt dry, and her eyes were raw and burning. Aside from those minor annoyances, she felt wonderful. The rains had trickled to a soft, misty shower, and the sun let its soft white rays down on the city of Rohan. But, as she had predicted, the feelings of darkness never left her heart. She would not return to her former thoughts and ways. She was done troubling with the world of good, for it offered nothing to her but failure. Wormtongue had opened up an entire new life to her, and she accepted it now, without any other considerations. The old Enelya was dead. It was time for the new Enelya to rise. 


	12. Tumbling Towards Tragedy

~*~*A/N: Happy New Year everyone! Can't believe it's 2003. Well…I've been waiting for this chapter for a while, and I'm very excited to be writing it finally. This is for all the Éomer fans out there. But first….  
  
  
--KITT-KATT: Hope you enjoy TTT whenever you see it. I'll check out your fics as soon as I can. :) And thank you so much for your nice reviews. They mean a lot to me.  
  
--MORGAN: Thank you! And yes, keep an eye out for the new story. I'm working on ideas for it.  
  
--AINSLEY: I know the feeling. I get weird looks too whenever I'm in one of my "oooh look at Wormtongue" moods.  
  
--MS. BIBBIT: Hmmm…Gríma…a cop? Interesting thought. ;)  
  
--TARA: Hmm…just wait and see! Hehe.  
  
--K.C. HUNTER: Thank you for explaining this "meeble". Interesting. I'm glad you're so intrigued by my story. Wormtongue does have his moments, doesn't he? ;)  
  
--RACHEL: Let me know if you write a Gríma fic too…I'd like to read it.  
  
--HATHOR: Oh, there's going to be worse cliffhangers to come. Mwa-ha.  
  
--COBALT: People like you rock. ;)  
  
--RONDRAH: Yeah, Éomer's voice is very nice. (I saw TTT again this morning for the seventh time, so…yeah. Yay.)  
  
Okay…here y'all go.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
CHAPTER TWELVE: Tumbling Towards Tragedy  
  
  
Náwien's eyes fluttered open, and she stared at the stone wall in front of her for a few moments, listening to the steady sound of her own breathing. A comforting stream of sunlight trickled in through the cracks in a nearby window, and rested lightly upon her cheek, flooding her face with a deep warmth. Her eyes flickered over the walls, ceiling, and floors as she remembered the previous night's events, starting with Enelya's sudden departure and ending with her sister's extremely peculiar behavior at the end of the night. Memory came floating back to her, and she recalled her conversation with Éomer. Náwien sighed as she realized that she had left him in a cold anger, and she decided that it might be wise to visit him at the Golden Hall to present her apology. Her harsh feelings had dwindled since her hostile confrontation, and she was only left with emotions of regret. She should not have been so cross with him, for she knew that he was only looking out for her. Náwien nodded, pulling herself to a sitting position in her bed, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. At any rate, she was determined to prove to Éomer that she was a strong fighter, and that she could hold her own against a band of Orcs. Of course, it would take more practice, but she knew that one day, Éomer would be calling to her aid in battle. She would fight alongside him and Éowyn, and, perhaps most importantly, alongside her sister.  
  
Náwien rummaged through a thick rack of dresses, carefully selecting a sleek white gown with a long skirt and flowing sleeves. She pinned her fine blonde hair back behind her head, letting a few solitary wavy strands fall into her face, blocking her vision only slightly. Admiring her appearance for a moment in the shiny mirror, Náwien slipped down the hall, walking past Enelya's closed door without even so much as a good-morning knock. Náwien didn't care to see how her sister was doing, for she was still annoyed and confused about the events of the past night. She would speak with Enelya when she desired to do so.  
  
~*~  
  
Éowyn ventured outside into the cool breezy morning, tilting her chin up to the sun, sighing as she felt the rays gracefully kiss her skin. She was grateful for the end of the rains, though, she knew the storm would return when the sun went down that evening. How she hated the weather that plagued the nights of Rohan.   
  
Suddenly, the sound of hooves against the ground caught her attention, and she looked up, seeing Éomer's student, Náwien, approaching on her brown horse. Éowyn watched as she dismounted artfully, tucking a few stray strands of her hair behind her ears. She stroked her horse's mane for a few moments, absorbed in the beauty of the animal. Then, Náwien turned, and climbed the stone steps before the Golden Hall, her sword's silver blade shimmering at her side.   
  
"Good day," Éowyn said, as Náwien approached her. She bowed slightly in response, smiling shyly at the royal Shield Maiden, feeling a bit awkward in her presence.   
  
"Did you find your sister last night?" Éowyn asked, as Háma stepped forward to ask Náwien to remove her weapon.  
  
"Aye," Náwien replied, placing her sword upon Háma's table. "She was home when I returned."  
  
"Did she say where she went?"   
  
"She said she visited the Golden Hall, but I am doubtful," Náwien answered, glancing up to look Éowyn directly in the eye. "I came here myself, if you did not already know. I looked for her here, but I did not have any luck."  
  
"I heard you also looked for your sister at the borders," Éowyn said, her expression unreadable.   
  
Náwien did not reply for a moment, uncertain of what Éowyn was going to say.   
  
"Do not worry," Éowyn continued, after a slight pause. "I am not going to lecture you, for I believe my brother already did just that. Furthermore, you already know that you made a mistake. I suppose I do not need to remind you of the severe risk you took."  
  
"Right," Náwien said softly, nodding, surprised at her words.  
  
"And Enelya was here last night," she added. "Háma confirmed it for Éomer and I."  
  
"But you did not see her?"  
  
"Nay, I did not. I cannot imagine what drove her to the Golden Hall at such a late hour, and whom she met with, but…." Éowyn trailed off, a faraway look in her eye. "But I believe I have an idea of what may be happening."  
  
Náwien's eyes widened in surprise, and she looked at Éowyn in wonder, waiting for her to finish her sentence.  
  
"I believe you are here to see my brother," she said suddenly, changing the subject before Náwien could ask any questions. "I will not keep you. Go to him as you meant to." Éowyn smiled gently, gesturing to the doors behind her. Náwien stared at her for a few seconds, curious as to what she might have known. When it was clear that Éowyn was not going to give any more information, she sighed, and pushed through the double doors into the Golden Hall, a million questions still burning on the tip of her tongue.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien did not have to look very long to find Éomer, who was leaving the Throne Room, appearing weary and tired. He looked surprised to see her and was rendered speechless for a few seconds, before going to greet her.  
  
"Good day," he said smiling slightly.  
  
"I've come to offer you my apologies," Náwien replied, lowering her head in respect for his honor and authority.  
  
"For what?" Éomer asked, knowing full-well what she was coming to say.  
  
"For the way I acted last night," Náwien explained, looking up at him with wide eyes. "You were only saying what you thought was best. And you were right. I just want so badly to be as good as you are, with the sword. It's all I've ever dreamed of."  
  
"I know," Éomer replied, approaching her slowly. "And I do not doubt that you will obtain that level of skill one day, with the right training and diligent practice."  
  
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Náwien asked, a mischievous gleam in her eye. She jerked her thumb towards Éomer's sword. "Might as well get a lesson in while I'm here."  
  
Éomer smiled at her, unsheathing his sword and holding it in front of him steadily. He handed her his spare blade, knowing that her own weapon was outside on Háma's table. Náwien grinned, feeling a surge of energy course through her veins as her fingers flexed around the handle.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
She nodded, placing her feet shoulder-width apart, just as he'd taught her. He brought his sword down, his blade crossing hers, and there was a long pause as they stared at one another; the silence was filled with challenge and tension, which crackled between them like sparklers.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
Their blades crashed together, the sound of metal echoing through the hall. Éomer's deep voice carried over the din of their tarrying, and he called out counts, never breaking his rhythm or stride. Náwien concentrated as hard as she could, trying to stay with his fast pace, but did not forget to smile, keeping in mind Éomer's words from her last lesson.  
  
"Move your feet," he instructed loudly, and she obeyed, pivoting and whirling, taking him by surprise. He increased his speed, working to challenge her constantly. He continued with his counts, but stopped short when the tip of his blade nicked her upper arm slightly. Náwien let out a soft cry, and her sword fell to the ground with a clatter. Éomer sheathed his weapon quickly; his hand was upon the wound in the next second. The soft material of her dress was torn, and her crimson blood stained the sparkling white fabric. The cut was not deep, but it was still quite painful, and she winced sharply.  
  
"I'm sorry," Éomer said, his voice thick and full of concern.  
  
"It's all right," Náwien replied, feeling dazed as Éomer ripped off a small patch of his sleeve and tied it around her arm tightly. She felt her breath catch in her throat as his rough fingers grazed her skin, sending chills down her spine, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Éomer did not remove his hand from her arm; instead, his hold lingered, his gaze flickering up from the base of her neck to her honey-colored eyes. Náwien briefly wondered if she was going to faint, either from the shock of her injury or from Éomer's touch. Probably the latter. His deep brown eyes were dark with intensity, and Náwien knew he was the sole reason for her light-headed state.  
  
"Éomer, are you--"  
  
The sound of Náwien's voice speaking his name was absolute confirmation, and, catching her off-guard, Éomer bent, pressing his lips on hers. His stubble was rough against her fair skin, and the blood rushed to her face as she felt the moist flash of his tongue. Náwien's eyes widened, unsure of the kiss as well as the foreign feelings flooding her body.   
  
Suddenly, Éomer pulled back, his breathing ragged. He looked down at Náwien, feeling ashamed of the advancement he'd made upon her. Her shining light eyes were full of youth, and he could see her innocence reflected in all of her features. It would only cause her trouble, pain, and grief to entangle herself with a man such as he. He'd seen so much, and she so little. Éomer did not need a wizard or wise Elf's advice to know that any involvement with Náwien would only end in tragedy.  
  
"I apologize for that," he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.  
  
"For what?" Náwien asked, repeating his words from earlier. He looked her in the eye - a mistake - and found it difficult to look away. Bravely, Náwien stood on her tiptoes, leaning up to kiss him. He appeared surprised at her courage, but he'd expected it. His obvious weakness gave her strength. But it became apparent, as her lips moved against his own, that there was nothing to do but give in. If it didn't happen that day, it would the next time, or the time after that. Inevitability was impossible to escape.  
  
Éomer's arms slid firmly around her waist, drawing her close and pressing her body tightly against his. Náwien ignored the stinging sensation in her arm, and focused only on the growing intensity of the deepening kiss. Not to mention the growing yearning in her heart.  
  
~*~  
  
Éowyn walked through the halls, heading for the Throne Room in hopes that Théoden would soon recover from his peculiar state of being. Of course, Éowyn knew that her faith would only be in vain.  
  
She paused upon seeing a swell of white, which caught her eye. Éowyn raised her eyebrows, seeing her brother and Náwien tangled in a fiery embrace, their lips pressed together as he ran his hands down the ivory-colored bodice of her dress. Éowyn sighed, turning, and she continued on her way to the Throne Room. She would not let herself be troubled with Éomer's foolish choices, even though she knew that her brother was making a huge mistake.  
  
~*~  
  
Wormtongue stood behind a column, lurking in the deep shadows of the room, his eyes fixed on the girl in Éomer's arms. He knew that he had seen her before, but he could not match a name with her youthful face. Nevertheless, he was fixated with her. Her creamy skin was flawless from lack of years, and her blonde hair shone brilliantly even in the dim lighting. He was drawn to her beauty and innocence…oh how he longed to stain her purity with the scarlet blood of evil. He desired more than her virginal body, for something deep in his mind told him that she would be an important part of his plan.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Cliffhanger AGAIN!*~*~ 


	13. The Tangles of the Scheme

~*~*A/N: Listening to Counting Crows always makes me feel like writing. I love them. Yay. Here's some pretty Wormtongue stuff for you. But first....  
  
  
--LADY OF NONE: Yeah, I guess Wormtongue has a soft spot for Shield Maidens. Hehe. And Éomer is wonderful, isn't he? (Oh yes, messy is quite the word for the things ahead.)  
  
--LADY ELISE: I won't stop writing this one. It's going to get finished.  
  
--JINX: Yes, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf will show up in a few chapters. Do not despair! (And do you really think I could go a WHOLE fic without writing about my beautiful King Elessar? Pscht! Hehe.)   
  
--COBALT: Yeah...blonde virgins...oh well. Hah. And Éomer is definitely...woah! :-)  
  
--KITT-KATT: Romantic. Pah! ;) And, Wormtongue...well...yeah. Of course.  
  
--TARA: Yes, Náwien does belong with Éomer...but we have to spice things up a bit, of course.  
  
--MS. BIBBIT: First off, thank you for bowing to me! That made my day. And trouble will abound from this fic.  
  
--LADY AVI: Welcome to the realm of the followers of this fic! Keep reading, and I'm glad you like.  
  
--URUVIEL: Your gut feeling is very good. Keep checking the updates to see how right you may be. But have a little faith in Náwien and Éomer. She's not as foolish as they all think. ;)  
  
Okay! Fun fun...here you go guys!  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Tangles of the Scheme  
  
  
With much effort, Wormtongue finally wrenched his eyes away from Náwien and Éomer, and headed for a small room off to the side of a nearby hall. It was almost impossible for him to tear his gaze from her, but he finally forced himself to summon up the tiniest bit of self-control to leave before he was seen by either of them. Once alone, Wormtongue allowed himself to close his eyes, picturing Náwien's fair skin, blonde hair, and lithe body. She was so young, he thought, so young and innocent. A slow grin spread across his face as he considered what sort of help a naive and stupid girl could contribute to his growing scheme. There were so many endless possibilities, and the thought of all the roads he could take was more than enticing. There was a sound at the doorway then, interrupting his reverie, and Wormtongue turned, opening his eyes, to see Enelya standing in the opening.  
  
He raised his eyebrows upon seeing her, somewhat surprised at her appearance. There was something different about her, he noticed. She did not look the same as she did the night before, for her eyes were clouded over with shadow, and her expression was one of darkness. Enelya wore a deep navy dress - the color was nearly black - and it suited her newfound aura. Her gaze was hard - gone was her discomfort and uncertainty. All that remained in her eyes was a look of wicked determination. Nothing like the other girl Wormtongue had seen. She was yet to be corrupted; Enelya had already completed the transition.  
  
"Good day," Enelya said, entering the room and closing the wooden door behind her.  
  
"Did Éomer see you?" Wormtongue asked, wondering if he or Éowyn knew that Enelya came to the Golden Hall to visit him.  
  
"Nay," she answered, leaning against the wall. "I was able to slip past them unnoticed. Neither Éomer nor Éowyn were within my sight anyway. I know not where they are."  
  
Wormtongue nodded, his mind still distant, focusing on faraway thoughts. Enelya noticed this, and she approached him slowly, her lips curled in question.  
  
"My lord," Enelya said, surprising Wormtongue with her expression of respect. "What troubles you?"  
  
"Nothing troubles me," Wormtongue replied honestly. "I am just thinking of the latest happenings."  
  
"Which are?"  
  
Wormtongue smiled eerily, leaning forward to speak quietly in her ear, at risk of anyone hearing. He could not allow anyone - from a lowly guard to the King himself - to know of the matters he was about to speak of.  
  
"Saruman is almost ready," he whispered, letting a hand run through her silky blonde hair as he spoke softly to her.  
  
"Ready to do what?" Enelya asked, her sapphire eyes widening in curiosity and wonder.  
  
"To begin his war on Men. It will not be long now before his army attacks Rohan. They will not be able to defend their keep against Saruman's forces, for we are stronger than the villagers and Riders combined. As long as Théoden remains poisoned and imprisoned, Rohan will have no chance of survival."  
  
"Then what happens?" Enelya asked, her voice breathy as she contemplated the astounding events that would take place over the next few days and weeks.  
  
"Then, my lady, there will be little left to do besides revel in the power that will soon be ours. Once the world of Men is destroyed, Middle-earth will fall. And once it does, life will be more grand than you could ever imagine."  
  
Enelya smiled slowly, delighted by his words. There was nothing she wouldn't do to become as powerful as he promised she could be. It had reached the point where she would kill for such domination, and she would feel no remorse for the spillage of blood.  
  
She let the image of the dark tower fill her mind again, and she closed her eyes, mesmerized by the picture in her head. She knew not where this tower was, though, she guessed that it was located in Isengard. Perhaps, Enelya thought, it was where Saruman the Great White Wizard dwelled. She knew that she would find out soon enough.   
  
Wormtongue's voice interrupted her thoughts, and her eyes popped open, the image of the looming tower vanishing.  
  
"There is someone who will help us," he said slowly, as if he was realizing this himself.  
  
"Oh?" This statement intrigued Enelya, but, at the same time, she was angered as well. There was to be someone else entangled in Wormtongue's plan? She thought he was reserving the power for only her.  
  
"I saw a girl with Éomer before," Wormtongue said softly, and Enelya knew that he was imagining her face, much like she'd pictured the tower moments ago. "She appeared to be very young...perhaps no more than fifteen years of age."  
  
Enelya's eyes narrowed slightly, briefly wondering if Wormtongue was speaking of Náwien, but pushed the thought from her mind quickly. It was not possible.  
  
"Éomer and this girl looked quite taken with one another," he continued, a far-off look in his pale blue eyes. "He was kissing her with great passion." Wormtongue paused again, and Enelya gestured for him to continue. "I know I have seen her at the Golden Hall before; there was a time when she and Éomer were striking blades in the large room at the end of the main corridor. I do not know her name, but--"  
  
"I know of whom you speak," Enelya interrupted, her dark blue eyes widening as she realized her gut feeling was right. "Her name is Náwien; Éomer is teaching her the skill of the sword. She desires to become a Shield Maiden such as myself, and Éowyn."  
  
"You know of this girl?"  
  
"Aye. She is a sister to me."  
  
Wormtongue was silent for a few moments as he processed this new information, weighing it in his mind. Enelya frowned, trying to understand the reason for his quiet state.  
  
"What of her?" she asked, unsure of how her sister fit into Wormtongue's scheme.  
  
"Something inside is luring me to her," Wormtongue confessed. "We must bring her to our end of things."  
  
"Why?" Enelya snapped, her blue eyes flashing with anger.   
  
"Because, my dear," he said, moving closer, "she obviously holds the trust of Éomer, who is very loyal to the King. If Náwien is true to us, which we will make sure that she is, she will be able to lead Éomer through blind faith in Rohan easily. Yes, her naïveté and foolishness will be two key factors to our absolute rule."  
  
Enelya softened, considering his words. Wormtongue was not trying to replace her - or even undermine her importance to him and his plot. Náwien was only a ploy - an unnecessary bonus to make things go smoothly. They were just using her stupidity and inexperience to their advantage. She was the one that Wormtongue had true desires and love for. Enelya felt her blood return to its normal temperature as she realized that Náwien was not a threat to her, or her growing potential.   
  
"If you want," she said, letting the haunting smile tug at her lips once more, "I can ensnare Náwien for us both. I know her weaknesses. Trust me...with my assistance...she will be ours quickly."  
  
Wormtongue smiled back; he had been so right in drawing Enelya to him. With her help, Saruman would bring all power to Isengard in a shorter time than they both had predicted.   
  
"Just give me a day or so," Enelya said firmly. "I shall set the stage for her entrapment."  
  
Yes, Wormtongue thought, it would not be long until the world of Men was nothing but dust, ash, and no more than a long-forgotten memory.   
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Sorry if this is a bit short, I just want to wait til Chapter 14 to do the whole Náwien thing. This is going to get messy.*~*~ 


	14. Beyond Shattered

~*~*A/N: Yay for snow. A few things to you guys before the chapter….  
  
--COBALT: Haha…seriously…that Wormtongue. Heartbreaker, love-taker…. And you're sort of right. Just…read and you'll see. ;)  
  
--KITT-KATT: Yikes! Threats! Don't worry…this story is going to be updated at least once a day.  
  
--ITHILWEN: Yeah, Éomer's voice is great. Glad you're enjoying this.   
  
--TARA: Náwien is going to be safe from Enelya. Don't worry.  
  
--RONDRAH: Yeah, Náwien isn't stupid at all. You'll see how different she is from Enelya. And there could be some more Náwien/Éomer action in the near future. ;) And have fun on your trip - you'll probably have a lot to read when you get back.  
  
--RACHEL: Enelya is going to have some disappointment coming, you're right. And Wormtongue is kinna pervy, ain't he? LoL. I'm glad you liked the kiss - I loved writing it.   
  
--KEYZA: Náwien does come off as the sweet, naïve type, but that's how I wanted her to appear to you all at first. And she'll redeem herself even more as this story continues.  
  
--SHY: Éomer will have such an important part. Patience is a virtue.  
  
--HATHOR: Me? A pervert? Haha. No way. I'm glad you're getting so into my story.  
  
--K.C. HUNTER: Yeah, Enelya's really delusional. And I think you might be reading a bit too much Cosmo. ;)  
  
--URUVIEL: Dark and mysterious, definitely!  
  
--CARA: Glad you're enjoying, and thanks for reviewing!  
  
Okay…here you go!  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Beyond Shattered  
  
  
  
Náwien walked, as calmly as she could manage, from the Golden Hall, working to keep the blush from creeping up her cheekbones. She was sure that every man, woman, and child in Rohan could hear the pounding of her heart, for the sound rang in her ears as the blood rushed to them swiftly. She collected her sword from Háma's table, smiling politely at him, feeling the corners of her mouth turn up in a giddy, childish way. Náwien restrained herself from giggling uncontrollably, as she much desired to do, and untied her horse, ignoring the fact that her fingers trembled in an unchecked fashion. She was burning from Éomer's touch; her skin felt raw from where his stubble had been, only moments ago. Náwien raised a fragile hand to her mouth, feeling the drops of moisture still left upon her lips. She broke out in a grin, not caring if a passerby gave her odd looks. She was thrilled with the newfound feeling of her racing pulse; she loved every second that she felt as if her heart might burst from her ribcage. There was nothing she would change about her current state.  
  
Still radiating, Náwien mounted her horse and took off for her house, thinking of the recent happenings. After she'd overcome her initial fear and self-doubt, she and Éomer had stood in the center of the room, locked in a fervent kiss for quite some time. Náwien could not place the strange warmth that flooded her body, or the way she desired his strong touch with such a passionate yearning, but the entire incident was over too quickly. Éomer broke away from her embrace, as if he was trying to protect her from himself. He'd told her that it would be best if she left, but Náwien saw the glimmer in his dark eyes. She knew that he actually wanted her to stay.  
  
However, not to disrespect him, Náwien had left the Golden Hall, carrying the knowledge of his true emotions with her like a cross. She rode now, at full speed, towards her small home, wondering if her sister was awake from whatever ill spell had been holding her.  
  
~*~  
  
Éomer stood, alone, in a chamber to the side of the Throne Room, attempting to regain control of his breathing. Never before had he been so driven - so infatuated - by a woman. The feelings swarming through his body were entirely foreign to him, and he was terrified, as well as excited, by his newfound emotions.   
  
He had told Náwien to leave only because he was afraid of what would happen if she did not do so. It was one thing to step into the river of temptation - it was another thing entirely to drown in it deliberately. Besides, something was telling him that any entanglement with his young student was only going to end in tragedy. But, unfortunately, Éomer, son of Éomund, was one to follow his heart, no matter what the end result may be.   
  
~*~  
  
Náwien dismounted her horse, dropping to her feet gracefully. She paused to tie her makeshift bandage tighter, grinning again at the small reminder of Éomer. Suddenly, the sound of hooves distracted her, and she glanced up to see Enelya riding towards her. Náwien raised her eyebrows; she did not even know that her sister had left the house.   
  
"Where have you been?" Enelya asked, noting Náwien's horse.   
  
"I was at the Golden Hall," Náwien answered, unable to keep the sheer happiness from her voice.   
  
"Having a lesson?" her sister questioned, dismounting.   
  
"Aye," Náwien replied, nodding slowly.   
  
Enelya took a few steps closer to her, inspecting her glowing expression. Náwien's eyes flittered over her sister's face nervously, feeling as though she was completely transparent, and that Enelya could see right through her - right into her desires and emotions. It was, as if she was stripped of her skin and her heart was laid out on the ground for Enelya to read at her will. She lowered her gaze to the grass, unable to look her sister in the eye any longer.  
  
"Do not tell me that you have become…romantic…with your instructor?" Enelya said. There was something in her tone that made Náwien's blood freeze, as if she knew a secret that Náwien did not. Her pause gave Enelya power, and she pressed on. "Náwien, answer me."  
  
"What business is it of yours?" Náwien responded, afraid of what news her sister would bring regarding Éomer.  
  
"So you are!" Enelya exclaimed, her deep blue eyes widening at this information. "Have you gone mad, Náwien?"   
  
"What?" she gasped, confused.  
  
Enelya shook her head, making a noise with her tongue against the roof of her mouth, as if she pitied Náwien.   
  
"You cannot seriously think that Éomer cares for you," she said condescendingly.  
  
"What would you know about it?" Náwien snapped, angry with Enelya for ruining her rare mood.  
  
"Please, dear sister. I've been to the Golden Hall many times to visit Éowyn, and I've heard Éomer speak of you. Trust me…take my word for it…he does not have serious feelings for you."   
  
"What has he said?" she asked wearily, knowing that she did not want to hear whatever Enelya was going to tell her.  
  
Enelya laughed, as if there was anything funny about this situation.   
  
"He has said that you have very little skill with the blade. He regrets giving you false hope, for he knows that you'll only end up slain in battle with the faith that he's put in you. He says you're foolish and naïve. And you do not have what it takes to ever become a Shield Maiden of Rohan."  
  
Náwien's mouth was open in shock and she searched her sister's face for any signs that would indicate that she was lying, but found none. Enelya's features were set in a smooth and motionless position, and Náwien found that she could not recognize the woman staring at her.   
  
"I am sorry," Enelya said, her voice kind and sympathetic, but her eyes blank. "I did not want to be the one to tell you this. I never knew that your feelings for him had grown to become serious."   
  
Náwien closed her eyes, trying to block out the sound of Enelya's speech. How could she have not seen this? She was a fool to believe that Éomer was true to his words. She should have stayed with her original feelings; she always suspected that she was very much alone in her life. There wasn't anything behind her desire to become a Shield Maiden except her own dreams. She felt Enelya's hand close on her shoulder, but her empathy only flooded Náwien with nausea. She pushed away her touch intended for comfort and began walking away from her sister, ignoring her shouts after her. Náwien marched along the dirt path with no destination in mind. Anything to get away from Enelya's words - whether they held truth or not was irrelevant.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien was not sure how long she'd walked, or how far, but the sun was low in the sky, and burned down on her tangled blonde hair. Despite the cool air, she felt feverishly warm, and could not rid her thoughts of what Enelya told her earlier that day. She kicked at a few rocks angrily, muttering incoherently under her breath. Her anger was divided unevenly between her sister, Éomer, and, mostly, herself. She wasn't used to letting her defenses down, and the feeling of being hurt the moment she let go was enough to keep her disheartened for a long while.  
  
On a whim, Náwien drew her sword from the sheath at her hip, and held it in front of her steadily. She took in a deep breath, hearing Éomer's instructions echo in her mind, his deep voice floating through the air around her. Tears stung at her pale eyes, but she fought them off quickly, concentrating on the blade before her. Whispering counts underneath her breath, she swung out, whirling, imagining Éomer's sword clanging against her own. The silver metal sliced through the air, and the wind pressed upon the sharp blade, releasing thick whipping sounds. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sound that her sword made in the breeze, and the rhythmic counts that she murmured aloud, unable to keep herself from wishing that it was Éomer's voice and not her own.   
  
"You're quite talented."  
  
Náwien's eyes snapped open and she gasped audibly at the sound of another person speaking. She was certain she was alone. Spinning 'round quickly, she sheathed her sword and staggered backwards at the sight of the man before her.   
  
"Náwien, isn't it?"  
  
Her eyes widened as she realized he knew her name. Who was this strange man that was speaking to her? His light blue eyes were mysteriously blank, and surrounded by a greenish haze, and his skin was of a feeble pale color. His lips were cracked and dry, and he was dressed in all black, save for a few shimmering chains around his neck. His hair was jet black, oily, and hung before his face in knots.   
  
"Who are you?" she asked slowly, her hand comfortingly around the hilt of her sword.  
  
"My name is Gríma," he introduced. "I am a friend of your sister's."  
  
Náwien stared at him openly, confused. She'd never seen this man before, and there was something about him that made her extremely uneasy and repulsed. He noticed her expression, and continued, offering explanation for his presence.  
  
"I was walking down the path," he said, "and I saw you with your blade. I must say, you are very skilled. Are you a Shield Maiden like Enelya?"  
  
Náwien raised her eyebrows at his words. Skilled? Talented? A Shield Maiden? Was Gríma blatantly lying to her, or did he see something in her that everyone else failed to notice? She realized that he was waiting for an answer, and cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable.  
  
"Nay, I am not a Shield Maiden," Náwien said regretfully. "I am learning the art of swordsmanship from Éomer, the Third Marshal of the Riddermark." As she said this, she felt a pang of sadness, recalling Enelya's statement from before.   
  
"I see," he replied. "Well, Éomer has taught you well. You are lucky to have such a wonderful instructor."  
  
He nodded to her slightly, and turned, walking off in the direction from whence he came. Náwien stared after him, and then shifted her gaze to her sword, looking at it with newfound hopes.  
  
~*~  
  
Éowyn ducked behind a nearby tree, avoiding to be seen by Wormtongue as he walked by. She'd been wandering the wild alone, pondering the current state of Rohan and Théoden, when she noticed Wormtongue talking with Náwien. She knew not what they spoke of, but she did not fail to miss the brief sputter of fear in her heart. Something was terribly wrong, she knew. And she wondered if it involved Wormtongue, or the Carnesir sisters…or both.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Okay. Just want to say this. Don't worry about Éomer and Náwien. It'll be okay.*~*~ 


	15. Choices and Decisions

~*~*A/N: I BROKE 100 REVIEWS!! Thank you all so much! You don't know how happy that made me. Okay. Stuff for you guys….  
  
--LADY AVI: Glad you're enjoying!  
  
--SHINIGAMI NO BAKA: Thank you so much for your review. All your compliments mean so much to me. And I've tried to be good about updating this baby, once a day seems pretty nice to me.  
  
--TARA: Glad to see we have a nice love/hate relationship going. ;)  
  
--KITT-KATT: Happy you liked that line - I was like "oooohhh" as I wrote it. Hehe. And thank you, I'd rather not get my ankles bitten by your dog.  
  
--K.C. HUNTER: Nice psychoanalyzing! You're right-on.  
  
--ITHILWEN: *Grrr* seems like a good way to describe Wormtongue. Náwien & Éomer do work well together, eh?  
  
--HATHOR: Don't worry, Náwien will have some serious butt-kickin' to do later. Thank you for the note about Éomer being the Third Marshal. I don't know what I was on when I wrote "Second".   
  
--DWELLS IN SHADOW: Glad you found my story, and joined the realm of the Gríma Girls! Enjoy!  
  
--RACHEL: Fighting over Gríma…haha…that's a really funny thought. And I would DEFINITELY like to read your story.  
  
--FRYING PAN GIRL: Glad you like!  
  
--COBALT: Yeah, he's pretty much a playa. LoL. We'll see what happens to Gríma and his ladies. I'm not promising anything….  
  
--AINSLEY: I'm trying to upload once a day!  
  
--MORGAN: Thanks! And I'm glad you're enjoying the Náwien/Éomer. I'm having so much fun writing it.  
  
Well…that's it for now, guys! Hope you like Chapter 15.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Choices and Decisions   
  
  
  
Some days had passed quietly, the air heavy and thick with warning. The uneventful sunrises and sunsets were threatening, for it was only the calm before the great storm. The desire in Enelya's mind was growing, and with each new day, the shadow that was cast over her heart darkened further. The nightly rains were more violent than they'd ever been, as if they were promising something horrific. It was only a matter of time before the plan was put into full force.  
  
It was early one morning when Enelya rode to Edoras, to meet with Wormtongue again. Her sister, as she knew, was safe at home. Náwien had not done much but sit alone or wander the wild as of late. She was obviously hurt by what Enelya had told her about Éomer. As far as she knew, Náwien had not been at the Golden Hall since her last lesson.   
  
Wormtongue had told Enelya of a secret entrance to the Golden Hall, so she would not have to be stopped by Háma every time she came to see him. Looking to make sure that she would not be noticed, Enelya rode past the stone steps and dismounted, tying her horse to a nearby tree. Carefully, she pried open the small wooden door that she knew lead to a long cold corridor. She slipped inside easily, and ran down the narrow hallway, her feet making no sound on the floor. Enelya found Wormtongue quickly, and entered the small room where he dwelled, shutting the door quietly behind her.  
  
"Good day," she said, sinking to a chair and crossing her legs at the ankles beneath her flowing dark gown.  
  
"It is almost time," Wormtongue said immediately, his eyes glimmering.  
  
Enelya felt her heart leap as she heard his words. Her fingers twitched in her lap, and she yearned for the destruction and power that she could taste in the back of her throat.  
  
"Be patient," he continued, as though he could read her thoughts. "All good things come to those who wait."  
  
Enelya nodded, knowing that he was right. But it was almost unbearable to wait another second, and she did not know much longer she could manage.  
  
"How do you fare regarding your sister?" Wormtongue asked, distracting Enelya from her thoughts of evil and domination. A slow grin spread over her face as she thought of Náwien's ridiculous naïveté.  
  
"Very well," Enelya answered. "I heard that you met her on the Road the other day."  
  
"Aye, that I did," Wormtongue replied, nodding. "It went just as you said it would. You are quite smart, Enelya."   
  
She smiled, pleased to hear him compliment her. She opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of a commotion outside. Enelya and Wormtongue looked at one another before leaping up at once to peek into the main hall. Both gasped audibly as they saw a hoard of Riders dash past, clothed in armor and carrying shields, swords, and spears.  
  
"What's happening?" Enelya asked, her voice hushed.  
  
"There must be an army of Orcs," Wormtongue answered, his eyes fixed on the scene before him. "The Riders of Rohan are going out to meet them head-on."  
  
"Saruman?" she guessed.  
  
"Perhaps," he said. "Or they might be from Mordor. One cannot tell without travelling to the borders."  
  
"Should I go?"   
  
"That, my dear, is entirely up to you."   
  
Enelya paused, as if her response was part of a test that Wormtongue was putting her through. There were two ways to answer; one was right, and the other was wrong. Which would please him?  
  
"I will remain here with you," she finally said. "If the armies have been sent from Saruman, I do not want to be a party to their death."  
  
Wormtongue smiled; she had obviously said the correct words.  
  
"Let them come," Enelya continued. "How long can Rohan defend against mindless Orcs while their King's mind is overthrown?"   
  
"Exactly," Wormtongue said, leading her from the hall. "Rohan will not be able to outlast the number of attacks that they will suffer over the next few weeks. There is nothing that anyone can do - rider, man, or King. It is over."  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien looked up, alert. The sound of hooves against the ground outside filled her ears, and she ran to her window to see what was happening. Her eyes widened as she saw the Riders of Rohan storm past. They all leaned forward on their horses, racing against time. Náwien noticed Éomer at the head of the group, raising his spear, shouting something inaudible. Her heart swelled at the sight of his sheer bravery, and she nearly forgot her anger for him. On a whim, she grabbed her sword and raced for the door, slamming it behind her. The noise echoed through the empty house - the heavy sound of resignation.  
  
In one swift movement, Náwien mounted her horse, swinging her long legs on either side of the graceful animal. She leaned forward just as she'd seen Éomer do, and rushed from the small village. Her pulse was racing at an obscene pace, and she felt the warm moisture of sweat on her palms. She was about to throw herself into the riskiest situation she'd ever encountered, and the very thought terrified her. It was very possible that she was riding to meet her own death.  
  
Before her nerves could take over or drive her to turn away, she reached the borders of Rohan. She gasped upon viewing the band of Orcs. They were more terrible looking than she'd ever imagined, and their stench rose up into her nostrils, making her sick with disgust. Their cries sliced through her ears, causing her to cringe. She sat atop her horse for a few moments, frozen with fear. A spear suddenly whizzed by her head, piercing the tree behind her, barely missing her skull. She was driven back into action, and she dropped down to the grass, unsheathing her blade in a flash. An Orc was upon her in less than a second, and Náwien's eyes widened. Forgetting everything about proper stance or feet positioning, she resorted back to basic instinct and swung out, slicing the slithery creature's throat with ease. She recoiled from the impact, her blade lodged in the Orc's neck. Regaining her composure, she collected her weapon and whirled to stab another Orc. The task of slaying the despicable creatures became easier and easier, and her heart slowly returned to its normal beat. She felt nothing but the desire to help the Riders, and did not even notice when her arm was slashed and the wound from her lesson opened up, blood staining her clothes. It did not matter, as long as there was breath still in her body.  
  
Surprisingly, none of the Riders around her questioned her presence. They must've assumed that she was a Shield Maiden, like Éowyn or Enelya. Éomer was nowhere in sight, and for that, she was grateful. She knew that if Éomer saw her fighting, he would get extremely angry. The last thing Náwien wanted was to suffer through one of Éomer's stern talks. She knew exactly what she was doing, and the determination in her heart was greater than the fear in her mind.  
  
~*~  
  
Éomer's mind went blank as he killed Orc after Orc. He allowed all deep thoughts to flee his head, and he concentrated only on the serious task before him. The band of Orcs was not large, but they weren't as weak as he'd always assumed them to be. Their armor was thicker than usual, and their shields stronger.   
  
Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, and his golden hair was matted with dirt. His breath was ragged as he spun and pivoted, killing at his will. Suddenly, anguished shouts caught his attention, and he turned his head sharply to the left to see Theodred, son of Théoden, drop to his knees, clutching his stomach, his fingers slippery with blood. Éomer gasped, quickly lunging out to kill the Orc who loomed over Theodred's injured body. Then, he sank to the ground beside Theodred, his eyes wide with despair.  
  
"How badly am I wounded?" Theodred whispered, struggling to sit.   
  
"Peace," Éomer quieted, inspecting the deep red slash on his abdomen. He examined the King's son thoroughly, noting how his pale skin was cold and clammy, his handsome face stained with blood and dirt. Theodred's breathing was uneven and raw, but he was still very much alive. Éomer stood to fight off the remaining Orcs, all the while keeping an eye on his friend, who lay, clutching his wound.   
  
Once the Orcs were all slain, Éomer turned back to Theodred, but something caught his eye first. He crouched beside a fallen Orc, and carefully removed the creature's helmet. His breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was staring at. Upon the rusted metal was a blinding white handprint, which stood out like a bloodstain upon fair ivory skin. It could only be the White Hand of Saruman.  
  
Éomer stood, his dark eyes flashing, and noticed a girl a few feet away, bent at the waist, catching her breath. His features froze in a stare as he realized that it was none other than Náwien. She turned, meeting his surprised gaze. They stared at one anther for a few moments, before she looked away and mounted her horse. Without a word to him, she rode past, leaving him to stare after her, stunned at her torn clothes, bloody arms, and, most importantly, the sense of pride that shone in her eyes.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Yee-haw! Let me know.*~*~ 


	16. A Dangerous Threat

~*~*A/N: Saw TTT for the eighth time! Yeah! Okay…here's to the massive amount of reviewers. I love you guys!  
  
--K.C. HUNTER: Yes, your psychoanalyzing was correct! Surprised? And you KNOW you like Wormtongue's mind games. Who wouldn't? And I've been meaning to get the Wormtongue action figure! It's good?  
  
--KITT-KATT: When I read your review, I burst out laughing. I'm very happy to see that my story has excited you so much as to scream out loud upon reading! And if you don't see the movie soon, I'mma hurt you! ;)  
  
--LADY AVI: Haha who wouldn't mind being punished by Éomer??   
  
--DJ CALIQULA: Thanks for leaving a review! I'm glad to hear that you like it, and the best thing for a fanfiction writer to hear is that her story is up to par with Tolkien's spirit. I really appreciated that compliment. And, yes, Enelya will be further developed.  
  
--ITHILWEN: I've been uploading once a day. That's probably the fastest I can do! Hehe. Happy to see you're enjoying.  
  
--TARA: Yep, that's my Náwien! In a word, she rocks.  
  
--RACHEL: Theodred, sadly, has to die. But I like him as well, so it is pretty tragic. Wormtongue will try his hardest to seduce Náwien, that's for sure.  
  
--MORGAN: Yeah…poor, poor, Theodred. **Sniffle**   
  
--HATHOR: I'm glad you liked the Theodred bit. I figured he should show up, since we're nearing Aragorn, Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli's arrival. And it is a pleasure to update regularly. I have so much planned for this story, so I'm anxious to bang these chapters out daily.  
  
That's it for now! Hope you guys like!  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: A Dangerous Threat  
  
  
  
All energy was drained from Náwien's body as she rode back towards her house. Her arm was incredibly sore where she had been hit, and her legs were exhausted from so much movement. Náwien's throat was dry as sandpaper, and her heard felt as though rocks had been sewn in under her skin, but she would not trade the pain or fatigue for anything. Every time her muscles contracted or her arm throbbed, she was reminded of the dozens of Orcs she'd slain and the victory that now was her own. It was, indeed, the best feeling she'd ever known.  
  
"Náwien!"  
  
She paused, slowing her horse upon hearing a deep male voice call her name. There was only one person in the world who that voice belonged to, and she turned 'round, facing Éomer calmly.  
  
"Yes?" she said coolly, expecting his strict words. Her haughty expression dissipated quickly as her eyes came to rest on the man in front of Éomer, on his horse. She recognized him as Theodred, son of the King, and she gasped as she caught sight of his gruesome wound. Much to her surprise and relief, Theodred was alive, though his breaths were few and far between, and his rhythm uneven.  
  
"I saw you at the battle," Éomer said, distracting her from Theodred. "You fought?" He posed the question in the flat tone of a statement, being as he already knew the answer.  
  
"Aye, that I did."  
  
"Have you gone completely and utterly mad?!" Éomer cried. "You are not ready for battle!"  
  
Náwien raised her eyebrows slightly, a challenge sparkling in her stare.  
  
"I believe," she said coldly, "that I have already proven otherwise."  
  
"You gave me your word, Náwien, that you wouldn't ride to the borders again."  
  
"Actually, I never promised anything. But even if I did, what good is someone's word?" she yelled, thinking of what Enelya had told her, regarding Éomer. "If promises and trust mean nothing to you, then they shall not mean anything to me either." Without another thought, Náwien turned and rode towards her house, leaving Éomer alone and confused. No matter how many times he recited her words over in his mind, he could not figure out what she could have possibly meant.  
  
~*~  
  
Éowyn pushed past the crowd of villagers who had been drawn from their huts at the sound of the Riders storm past. She had been far from Edoras when she'd heard word of another band of Orcs at the borders. She did not have her sword upon her, nor her horse with her, so there was naught for Éowyn to do besides watch helplessly. Her jaw opened slightly as she took notice of Enelya's younger sister, Náwien, atop her brown horse. The young girl's clothes were caked with blood and dirt, and sweat glimmered upon her forehead. She rode past, failing to make eye contact with any of the villagers or Éowyn, even thought Náwien had, indeed, seen them all.  
  
Unable to worry about Náwien's presence any longer, Éowyn turned her attention to the rest of the Riders. She froze, unable to make a sound or movement, as she saw her brother carrying the King's son on the front of his horse. Theodred's eyes were rolled back, towards his skull, and he looked towards the sky, his expression blank and nearly lifeless. She stared after them in awe and grief before grabbing hold of her long skirts, and running after them at full speed.  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya crept into the Main Hall, curious to hear of the Riders' possible victory or defeat. Preferably the latter. Wormtongue was hidden in the shadows somewhere, lurking behind her, unseen. It was quiet, but the moment of silence did not last long, for the doors soon burst open and Éomer rushed inside. Enelya's deep blue eyes widened as she saw the son of the King, with a gaping wound ripped through his midsection. Theodred was badly hurt.  
  
A brief pang of remorse stung at her heart and a quick heat burned behind her eyes, salty tears threatening to come forth. Many a day she'd seen Theodred, alive and well, roaming Edoras freely. But it was no more. Enelya did not need any sort of cunning craft to be able to see that Theodred would no longer breathe the clean air at his will. Death reflected in his eyes, and for a solitary moment, he turned, his blank gaze fixed on her. With his faraway stare, it was impossible to tell what he might have been thinking. But to Enelya, it looked as though Theodred was able to read every treacherous thought that had crossed her mind during the recent days that had come to pass. She knew that it could not be so - that her mind was only playing tricks on her - but she could not escape the terrible suspicion that Theodred could see right into her shadowed soul.  
  
Éomer took Theodred into a room across the hall, and the two men disappeared from sight. Just as they vanished, all of Enelya's remorse and doubt did as well. Gone were her weak feelings; the comforting veil of darkness returned to slip over her heart, well as it should. She was now taken by surprise as her sister rushed into the Golden Hall, torn and tattered. She looked around, her scraggly blonde hair swinging from side to side, as her honey-colored eyes searched the room frantically. Enelya watched curiously, wondering who Náwien was looking for. She watched as Náwien turned suddenly, practically colliding into Éowyn, who was rushing through the Doors in a whirl.  
  
"My lady?" Náwien asked, reaching out to steady her before she could fall.  
  
"Where is Theodred?" Éowyn questioned, her blue eyes wide and voice hoarse with despair.   
  
"I know not," Náwien answered honestly, looking over her shoulder as though she were seeking him as well.   
  
"Éomer took him across the hall," Enelya called out, stepping forward and startling both Náwien and Éowyn. "They passed this way only moments ago."  
  
"Thank you," Éowyn whispered, smiling sadly at her friend before rushing off in the direction that Enelya had pointed in. Náwien started to follow, but Enelya quickly grabbed her arm, stopping her from moving, and pulled her into a small corridor, behind a column.   
  
"You went to the borders?"  
  
"Aye," Náwien answered, wrenching her arm away, ignoring the pain that shot through her entire body like a hot white flash. Enelya stared down at her hand, smudged with her sister's blood. She carelessly wiped it on her skirt; the red stain did not show up against the black fabric.   
  
"You fought against Orcs?"  
  
"Surprised?"  
  
"Impressed, rather," came a third voice, which slipped easily into their conversation. Both girls jumped and turned as one to see Wormtongue approaching. Enelya hung back, watching the exchange that followed, with slightly narrowed eyes.  
  
"You have proved me right," Wormtongue said, admiring Náwien's ripped and bloodstained clothes. He flicked his pale blue eyes over her face, inspecting her ash-smudged cheekbones and tired expression.   
  
"Right about what?" Náwien asked, looking confused. She glanced at her sister for some sort of sign, but Enelya gave nothing away.  
  
"About your skill with the sword. I knew you were talented, just as I told you that day we met in the wild." Wormtongue gestured to the blade by her side, and she glanced down, as if she'd forgotten that it was there. "Do not trouble yourself with the meaningless opinions of Éomer and his sister. They do not want so many villagers such as yourself and Enelya to have the same sort of capabilities as they, for you will become a threat to them."  
  
Náwien's eyes raised to his as she considered this new possibility. Wormtongue noticed the change in her expression, and he pressed on, cracking her resolve ever so slightly.  
  
"Éomer is keeping you below him on purpose," he told her. His voice dropped a notch or two, and he moved closer, as to not be heard by anyone who happened to walk by the little hall. "He wants to control your level of expertise for fear that you, and other villagers, will rise up against the royalty at Edoras. Éomer will tell you anything to protect himself and his city, for he does not care about anything more than he does his own safety."  
  
Enelya watched her sister carefully, noticing how she clung to every word Wormtongue spoke, intrigued by this new prospect. Náwien's eyes shimmered with tears, but she allowed none to fall freely down her dusty cheeks, and she clenched her jaw in determination to stay strong. Enelya stared, speechless, as she noticed the ease with which Wormtongue was able to gain Náwien's trust. Had it been so easy for her as well? Her eyes slipped to slits; she saw his hand press heavy on Náwien's shoulder as he continued to speak of Éomer's supposed motives. Wormtongue had said that Náwien was only going to be a ploy, but he was speaking to her as if he had much different plans.  
  
"We should go," Enelya said suddenly, grabbing Náwien's hand. "We should go home."  
  
"Home?" Náwien echoed, and Wormtongue turned to stare at Enelya incredulously.   
  
"Aye, Náwien, home," Enelya said. "Why don't you go and fetch our horses? I will meet you outside in a moment."   
  
Náwien nodded slowly, too drained to argue with her sister. She shifted her eyes to Wormtongue briefly, her gaze hard to read. It was impossible to tell whether her eyes were shimmering with respect, astonishment, or hatred. She turned and walked for the Doors, her ripped dress trailing behind her in rags. The moment she was out of sight, Wormtongue whirled on Enelya, his pale blue eyes flashing.  
  
"What did you do that for?" he hissed. "I was so close to ensnaring her!"  
  
If Wormtongue noticed the heated anger in Enelya's expression, he did not show it. She regained her composure swiftly, and offered a sugary smile.  
  
"You were not," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I know my sister better than I know my own hands. And you were nowhere near her entrapment." Wormtongue opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand to silence him. "Let me finish the deed," she begged. "I will take her home and bring her to us in the morning. You must take my word."  
  
There was a slight pause as he stared at her, weighing his options. Enelya held her breath as she waited for a sign that he trusted her. Finally, he nodded, though his eyes were cold.  
  
"All right," Wormtongue replied. "I expect you both tomorrow."   
  
"Fare thee well."  
  
Enelya grinned at him slightly, though; the smile did not fully reach her eyes. She walked past him towards the Doors, and as she stepped out into the night, her lips fell back into a flat line. She stood atop the stone landing, looking down at Náwien, who was waiting for her below, stroking the mane of her horse. She realized, with disgust, that even with the cuts, bruises, and dirt, Náwien looked beautiful, for her skin was radiant with youth and innocence. The innocence that Wormtongue longed to remove in the most painful way possible. Enelya stared down at her sister for a few moments, watching as the setting sun danced upon her ash-ridden hair, causing it to sparkle as though it had just been washed with the finest Elvish oils. Every second that she took in the sight of her sister's adolescent beauty was equal to one thousand knives stabbing at her body.   
  
There was nothing left to do besides take Náwien home. She was not going to be a ploy, as Wormtongue claimed he wanted. Enelya would not let it happen. For, amidst the endless array of lies that Wormtongue had spewed so easily, there was only one that held truth.  
  
Náwien was, indeed, a threat.  
  
But not to Éomer.   
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Oh…the plot thickens! Don't forget to tell me what you think. ;) *~*~ 


	17. In Anticipation of the Riddle's Answer

~*~*A/N: Wheeee here you go, guys. To the rabid fans…;)  
  
--LUNATIC: You are welcome! Wormtongue has always been one of my favorite characters too, but I never realized how fic-worthy he was until I saw TTT. (I, too, like Brad Dourif. He's great. And I also cried for Theodred.) And I'm glad you like my story!  
  
--FRYING PAN GIRL: Thanks! (And I enjoyed your "Holy Twizzlers" comment.)  
  
--DJ: Haha, gotta love the Black Capes. And, yes, I have PLENTY of plot twists in store. You'll all be surprised - more than once. And I read the story you posted the link to. It was wonderfully written, and I love the Wormtongue descriptions, and the sadistic theme. However, it was a little too much slash'y-ness, even for me. I was like "WOAH!" when I read it. But, overall, it was pretty good.   
  
--SHINIGAMI NO BAKA: Yep, Enelya's starting to get it. There will be more Éomer/Náwien later.   
  
--URUVIEL: Yes! I am converting you to the dark side of the Gríma Girls!  
  
--KITT-KATT: Yeah, you need to see TTT. ;)  
  
--MS. BIBBIT: She might try! And I'm glad you're relating to Enelya…surprisingly, the majority of my readers relate better to Enelya than Náwien. Hmm. Go figure.   
  
--K.C. HUNTER: Yep, damn those scorned teenage girls. ;) Let me know when you've got that Wormtongue fic of your own going. I'm dying to read that.  
  
--EIRTAE: Thank you for your review! Nice to see that you're enjoying this.  
  
--STAR-OF-LEGOLAS: Patience, my dear. All good things come to those who wait. (Not like my fortune-cookie-words are helping. But I'm trying.)  
  
--TARA: Enelya shot by an Orc? LoL, nah, she would deserve a better death scene than that. She's not Boromir. ;) (I was not, in any way, shape, or form, dissing Boromir. I like him. Meep.)  
  
--LADY AVI: Have faith in Náwien.  
  
--RACHEL: Yep, you know Gríma can't resist being so seductive. He loves it.  
  
--ITHILWEN: Aww…yeah…poor Éomer. Don't worry, he'll kick some serious butt later.  
  
--COBALT: Haha, yeah, you're right about some guys liking dominant girls. Very true.   
  
--HATHOR: Yikes, if you thought *that* cliffhanger was bad…you're going to flip after seeing this chapter. :-/ Hehe.  
  
--PUCKISH BEBE: Thank you, and I'm glad you like my story! I was worried people were going to think that I'm messed up.   
  
--MORGAN: Oh yes. Exactly. ;)  
  
~*~  
  
----------TO ALL MY REVIEWERS: Firstly, this chapter is a little shorter than the others. I'm sorry for that, but if I continued with it, I'd get too far into the story. This is the best place to break it up. Also, I apologize in advance for the unbearable cliffhanger at the end. I PROMISE I'll get the next chapter up tomorrow. With that, here's the next installment!  
  
~*~  
  
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: In Anticipation of the Riddle's Answer  
  
  
  
"After you," Enelya said, holding open the door to her house, gesturing for her sister to enter first. Náwien nodded her thanks quietly, and slipped through the front door, striding to a chair. She collapsed in it, exhausted from the battle. She unclipped her sheath, letting her weapon drop to the floor with a startling clatter. Náwien regarded her torn skirts, and her lips were tugged upwards in a smile, for the shredded fabric was only a symbol of the bravery she had displayed that day. Caring not for the dress, since it was obviously ruined, she leaned down and ripped a large square from the hem of her white gown. She trimmed it to the length she so desired with her teeth and carefully fastened it about her wounded arm - the same way Éomer had done only a few days before. She winced as the dull pain throbbed against the bandage, but she did not loosen it, knowing that it must be tied tight in order for the blood to stop flowing fully. She was willing to withstand the great pain in return for healing.  
  
Enelya closed the front door and approached Náwien warily. She sat across from her, perched on the edge of another wooden chair. Náwien raised her light brown eyes to her sister's, her expression speaking louder than any words could have.   
  
"Your friend, Gríma," Náwien said, her gaze fleeting as she heard Wormtongue's words echo in her mind. "Was he telling the truth?"  
  
"About what?" Enelya asked carefully.  
  
"About Éomer and Éowyn," she replied slowly, as if Enelya had to understand what she was speaking of. "Are they truly as conniving and frightened of us as he says?"  
  
Enelya paused for a very long time before answering, considering the value of each response that she could possibly offer. If she adhered to Wormtongue's plan, she was only handing him Náwien to replace herself. The very thought made her blood boil. However, if she dragged Náwien away from their scheme of darkness, she would be protecting her own importance, but at what cost? What sort of alliance would Náwien form with Éomer, if she were not entangled with Isengard? Enelya did not know if it was wise to go against Wormtongue's plot, but she could not bear to travel the other way. This was one time that she needed to follow her own path.  
  
"I would not worry about it," Enelya said comfortingly, smiling warmly at her sister. "Gríma does not know everything about Éomer and Éowyn. He was wrong to say what he did."  
  
"But what about what you told me the other day?" Náwien asked, confused. "You said that Éomer has no faith in me. That he thinks I am nothing but a foolish girl."  
  
Enelya fought back a small smirk that worked hard to pull at her lips. Perhaps she could keep Náwien away from Wormtongue *and* Éomer at the same time. It was almost too easy.  
  
"That, unfortunately, my dear, was true," Enelya said, false sympathy deep in her tone. "Éomer did say those things about you when I visited the Golden Hall to see Éowyn. But he does not fear you or feel threatened by you."  
  
Náwien frowned, puzzled. She was being fed two different stories, but did not know which to believe. Which of these two were lying? She wanted desperately to believe her sister, for she yearned to put her trust in she who was blood-related to her. However, there was something comforting in believing in Gríma's words as well. If he was telling the truth, it meant that she *did* have a future as a Shield Maiden, for she possessed talent. But it would also mean that Éomer was lying to her.  
  
Náwien sighed, pushing a hand through her tangled, messy hair. She glanced away from her sister. There was no use in arguing with her, especially since she wasn't sure whom to believe anyway. There were so many of her own questions that she needed to answer before she could concern herself with Enelya's statements.   
  
"All right," she finally said, her voice yet doubtful. "If you say so."  
  
She felt Enelya's inspecting eyes slide over her face, examining her expression carefully. Náwien grew uncomfortable under her gaze, and she stood unexpectedly. She smiled tightly at Enelya, and exited from the room, heading towards her chamber. Enelya got to her feet slowly, watching her go, her dark blue eyes glossy with anger. Náwien's tone was anything but sincere, and Enelya desperately needed to be rid of her unwanted jealousy and suspicion that emitted uncontrollably from her heart. Her gaze fell to the floor, and her eyes came to rest on Náwien's sword, which still lay on the cold wooden boards. Bending, she lifted it and unsheathed the blade in a quick, sharp fashion, admiring the way that the steel point glimmered in the dim candlelight. Her muscles itched to wrap her hand firmly around the hilt of her sword and drive the blade deep into Náwien's flesh. She swallowed thickly, imagining her screams of anguish that would fill their small house, the blood that would flow like a river from Náwien's heart. She held the weapon up, noticing how, if she tilted it at just the right angle, she could see her reflection shining in the metal. She gasped audibly at the violent flame in her eyes, surprised at her wild look. With a clang, she dropped the sword to the floor, taking a step back, bewildered at her own savage thoughts. She stared down at the blade in a mix of horror and amazement. Before her brutal desires could win over, she turned, and bolted from her house, heading towards Edoras. If she could not stop Náwien directly, she would alter Wormtongue's plan discursively.   
  
~*~  
  
Náwien was just about to crawl into her bed to lie down for the night, when she heard the sound of her front door opening and slamming shut again. She narrowed her eyes slightly; wasn't it Enelya who had dragged her home earlier?   
  
Náwien threw back her quilt and padded towards the window. She squinted, attempting to see through the ruddy glass, and raised her eyebrows as she took notice of Enelya mounting her horse.   
  
"What are you up to, my dear sister?" she whispered aloud to the empty room.   
  
Without another thought, Náwien raced for the door, wearing her sleeping attire. The sky was dark and cloudy, and it smelled of rain. As usual. She stood in the open doorway, staring after her sister in confusion and shock. Setting her mouth in a firm line of determination, she raced for her own horse, and mounted, pulling her long skirts over the back of her steed. Náwien pressed her heels into the animal's sides, keeping it at a slow pace, as to not give Enelya the idea that she was being followed.  
  
"Let us see what Enelya is hiding," Náwien whispered to her horse-friend, stroking its mane lovingly. "Once and for all."  
  
She trailed her sister through their village, and up the mountainous terrain to the Golden Hall. With every inch that she grew closer to Enelya's destination, her heartbeat grow louder - and faster. Her palms were sweaty with anticipation, and her mouth as dry as a grassy field on a hot summer's day. She was dying to uncover the secret that she knew had altered Enelya's personality for the past week, but, at the same time, she was terrified at what she might learn by tracking her sister's steps. She knew, though, that whatever had taken Enelya by storm had something to do with Gríma, the man of darkness whose words were golden. And she wondered if Enelya's change of state involved Éomer as well. Her temperature rose a few degrees at the utter thought, and she tightened her hands around the reins, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery that had haunted her for days.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: I am…evil. That is the worst Cliffhanger ever. I am terribly sorry. **Hides** Please don't kill me. Cause…you know…if you kill me, there won't be a Chapter 18. Cause, like, I'll be dead. =^.^= I promise I'll get 18 out tomorrow.*~*~ 


	18. Náwien's Plan of Light

~*~*A/N: Again, I apologize for the cliffhanger last night. But I always keep my promises, so, here's 18. But first, to my glorious fans, who almost killed me….  
  
--SHINIGAMI NO BAKA: Oh, yes, the you-know-what is going to hit the fan…. ;)  
  
--CHAOS SHADOW: Thank you for your review! I love getting detailed comments like yours. And I worked very hard not to make Náwien into a typical "Mary-Sue"ish character. I'm glad that I achieved my goal. Also, if you like Éomer, be sure to keep an eye out for Chapter 19, because there's bound to be a very nice scene or two coming up.   
  
--KITT-KATT: Yes, see, that's why you couldn't kill me because of the last chapter! If you did, you'd never get to know how this story ends. And wouldn't that suck? And I think this chapter is a lot better than some of the others. It's definitely a turning point.  
  
--TARA: You'll see…. =^.^=  
  
--ELECTRA: You're welcome! Like I've said before, it's my pleasure to get these chapters out daily. I'm having so much fun writing this fic, so I love writing so much.  
  
--LUNATIC: A Gríma clone really isn't much punishment, you're right. Sauron…hmmm…he's evil too…but anything LotR-related is good. ;) And here's Chapter 18, so you won't have to torture me after all.  
  
--DJ: Yep, my story has certainly drawn the Gríma Girls like bees to honey! It's great. And I'll check out your fic as soon as I can.  
  
--ITHILWEN: What fun would it be if my characters died halfway before the story is over? Haha. I'm glad you liked Chapter 17.  
  
--COBALT: A Gríma chat would be a great idea! Let me know any developments for that.  
  
--HATHOR: Thanks! Happy you're enjoying. And…you play cello? One of my best friends plays the cello too! Neat!  
  
--SHY: Yelling in frustration is good for the soul. And thanks for the compliment!!!! ^.^  
  
--MORGAN: Yep, Náwien's made a big change. She rocks.  
  
--DWELLS IN SHADOW: Haha, worse than Jackson's movies? Wow. That cliffhanger must've hurt! I apologize!  
  
--ERESSA: Wow! Thank you for that detailed review. I really appreciate it…and I'm glad you like this story.   
  
--SILENT STEP: Thanks for the note. Nitpicky isn't always a bad thing. And you're right.  
  
  
Okay, okay, here it is guys! Chapter 18…aka…the turning point in this tale.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Náwien's Plan of Light   
  
  
  
The side door of the Golden Hall creaked as Enelya pried it open carefully. She cringed as the wooden door groaned noticeably, and she glanced around nervously, hoping that no one noticed her presence. When it was clear that she was the only person on the premises, she slipped inside, gently leading the door shut behind her as to not make another sound. Once inside, she took a deep breath, leaning against the cool wall as she attempted to relax her mind. Her heart was still racing from the shocking urge she had to watch her sister perish by her own hand. Enelya continued to be aghast at her inner violence; she never knew she possessed such brutality and anger. When she'd regained a good portion of her composure, she'd moved through the narrow corridor, clinging to the shadows that were once so unfamiliar. Now, the mysterious darkness was as comfortable as an old friend.  
  
It did not take her very long at all to reach the small chamber that she'd walked to so many times. As Enelya completed the small journey, she could not help but notice that the air around her was quiet thick and unsettled. She glanced over her shoulder numerous times to see if she was being followed, but each time she cast a nervous look behind her, she saw only the emptiness of the hallway.  
  
Realizing that she was, indeed, alone in the passageway, Enelya faced forward once more, and entered the tiny chamber where she knew she would find Wormtongue.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien sighed upon noting the light drizzle, which began softly. She held up her hands, feeling the soft array of water trickle down over her fingertips. She slid from her horse, apologizing softly in advance for leaving the steed out in the rain. Turning, she spotted Enelya climbing a grassy hill towards the side of the Golden Hall. She began to follow her sister, being careful to keep a large distance between them as to not be spotted. Her heel sank into the wet ground, and she muttered angrily to herself under her breath as she yanked her shoe from the soppy dirt.   
  
Ducking behind a nearby tree, Náwien watched in surprise and confusion as Enelya yanked open a small wooden door that was built into the side of the great house. She disappeared from sight, and Náwien slowly counted to ten underneath her breath. She closed her eyes as she waited, feeling the rain, a bit harder now, fall down her face like teardrops. When she believed that it was safe, Náwien ran for the secret door, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. She was, of course, afraid of what she would find. However, she held a greater fear for what the days ahead would be like if she did not have any answers.  
  
~*~  
  
"Where is your sister?"  
  
Enelya closed the door to Wormtongue's chamber quietly, pausing before she answered. She had never considered the possibility of lying to him before, and even now, the thought unnerved her slightly. But she could not bear the idea of Náwien holding Wormtongue's fancy any longer. Enelya recognized the way he'd approached Náwien earlier that evening; it was the same way he'd talked to her when they'd first met. It was obvious that Wormtongue had grown bored with her, for she'd succumbed to his darkness already. Náwien was a new challenge.   
  
Well, perhaps Enelya had given into Wormtongue's spell, but he did not have complete power over her any longer. She was her own free person, regardless of whether she fought on the side of good or ill. She knew what she desired - and her plans for domination with Wormtongue had no place for his sudden obsession with her younger sister.  
  
"Náwien unfortunately won't be joining with us," Enelya said, feigning regret as best she could. "She is too young for such serious matters, Gríma. She has no interest in our scheme."  
  
Wormtongue was quiet for a moment, and Enelya tried her hardest to interpret his expression, but found it nearly impossible. His features were drawn in a blank stare, and he focused quietly on the candle in front of him. Enelya briefly wondered if he'd heard a word that she'd said.   
  
"It was important to bind Náwien to us," he said finally, raising his blue eyes to hers. "It is dangerous to do otherwise; her ties to Éomer are too strong."  
  
Enelya fought back a rise of hot anger that flared behind her eyes, and she forced a smile.  
  
"Ah, but have faith," she said softly, starting to him. "I have taken care of all involving Éomer. Náwien won't have much more to do with him." There was a slight pause, and Enelya pressed on, driving her point home. "If all else fails, my dear, we can just kill her."  
  
Wormtongue raised his eyebrows; surprised and, more importantly, impressed at her sheer audacity. Perhaps he was wrong to turn his back on Enelya so quickly. He had forgotten too easily why he'd chosen her for an accomplice to begin with; he'd forgotten why he'd fallen in love with her lack of empathy for any individual. She did not care for the lives of others - she was quick to kill for herself - and she was always coldhearted. Enelya was not about to let anyone stand in her way.   
  
"Very well," he said, pushing all thoughts of Náwien from his mind. "I trust your word."   
  
Enelya smiled, relief flooding over her. Everything was slowly returning to the way it had been…the way that it was meant to be.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien pressed her ear to the heavy wooden door, her eyes as wide as saucers as she heard the conversation between Enelya and Wormtongue from within the chamber. Their voices were no louder than whispers, but with the heavy quiet of the Golden Hall, it was not difficult for Náwien to make out their words.   
  
Her jaw hung open in disbelief as she caught wave of her sister's low voice.  
  
"If all else fails, my dear, we can just kill her."  
  
Náwien's blood nearly froze at the dark sound of Enelya's words. The soft and murderous tone in her voice was beyond chilling, and it made Náwien shiver with fear. As she continued to listen, and the realization of what she was hearing began to sink in, Náwien felt her knees weaken, and she leaned against the wall for support. Scalding hot tears stung at her eyes, but she wiped them away angrily. There was no use in shedding any more tears because of her sister's cruelty. But never had she even suspected….  
  
Suddenly, the door burst open, and Náwien, quick on her feet, dove behind a nearby column. Her pulse raced - almost a linear buzz, rather than a steady beat - and she closed her eyes, trying to calm down. Curiously, she peered around the stone column, watching as her sister walked briskly down the corridor, back towards the side door of the Golden Hall. Náwien waited in the shadows for a few moments, taking some time to process everything that she'd heard. The initial bitter taste of betrayal began to fade, and she was slowly left with only the burning question of what to do next. She could not even fathom the thought of pretending as if she'd never discovered the truth - pretending that everything was all right. However, she feared for her life, as well as the safety of Rohan. If she confronted Enelya with what she'd discovered, her sister would surely attempt to take her life. She'd heard it herself. If it came down to a battle of the blades, Náwien was not sure that she could win.   
  
Coming to a quick conclusion, Náwien sprang to her feet, prepared to tell Éomer everything she'd just heard. She was about to break out into a soundless run, when she halted, remembering the first phrase that she'd overheard.  
  
"Náwien unfortunately won't be joining with us…she has no interest in our scheme," Enelya had said.  
  
She paused, considering.   
  
A new idea popped into her head, and she slowly nodded as she realized what she must do. It was too risky to rope Éomer into Enelya's plans of certain doom just yet. Perhaps her sister wasn't the only one who could be crafty and conniving. Arriving at a full decision in a split second, Náwien turned, and walked right into Wormtongue's chamber.   
  
He looked up immediately, his eyes tired and heavy-lidded. He appeared surprised to see her, but before he could ask any questions, she spoke.  
  
"I do not know if you talked with my sister tonight," Náwien began, "but I believe she had misinterpreted what I'd said earlier."   
  
Wormtongue appeared intrigued at this statement, and motioned for her to continue.   
  
"I was a little reluctant to go along with your…plan." She hesitated, still unsure of what their plan, in fact, was all about. "But after giving it some thought, I realized what an opportunity you were offering me. And I have changed my mind. I will help you."  
  
He did not speak for a long time, and Náwien held her breath, wondering if he knew that she'd eavesdropped. If he could tell that she was lying. He took a few steps closer, and her skin crawled as he reached forward, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. She knew it was only a test - if she pulled back - he would know that she was not true. If she remained, he would be fooled, despite the way her mind was screaming for her to flee the Golden Hall. She warily raised her eyes to his, staring at him blankly, determined to give nothing away through her expression. Náwien might have been young, but she knew that she was just as smart as her sister, no matter how many years Enelya had to her advantage. It did not take much to understand the ways around the sleek traps that were laid out by any evil will, for good would always outfox them.  
  
Wormtongue raised his eyebrows slightly, appearing satisfied. He took a small step back, and with the cold air that rushed to her face, she recalled the way Enelya had grabbed her hand earlier, begging to take her home. Náwien's mouth opened slightly as she remembered the way Wormtongue had pressed his hand on her shoulder and leaned close, telling her what a threat she was to Éomer. All lies, of course, but it weren't his words that had bothered her sister. The second that his hand came in contact with her body, something inside Enelya had snapped, causing her to drag Náwien from the Golden Hall, far away from Wormtongue, but not to protect her from harm. Enelya obviously didn't care for her safety - she'd proven that by offering to kill her. She was only concerned with herself. The truth began to settle over Náwien slowly, like the sun pushing its way through rain clouds to end a storm swiftly.   
  
Enelya had romantic feelings for Wormtongue. It became so painfully obvious to Náwien that she almost laughed aloud. Her sister would do anything to keep him to herself - even go against his grand scheme. Well, she thought, Enelya had nothing to fear. She could have him. For now, she had a plan of her own - a plan that was full of more light than Enelya's was dark. And within it, there was no place for her sister's unbridled jealousy.   
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Let's all give one big cheer for Náwien, shall we? Also, I want to tell you guys something that will make you happy. This fic is going to be over 35 chapters long. Meaning, this plot is going to get even juicier. Also, stay tuned…because there's going to be some Éomer goodness in Chapter Nineteen. Let me know what you think!*~*~ 


	19. At the Turn of the Tide

~*~*A/N: I apologize for not writing over the past few days. But, shockingly, I have a life as well. So I've been a little busy. But do not despair; this story WILL be finished. My reviews have gotten too many to write individual notes, but do not think that I'm not grateful for all your comments: I am. I love them. Thank you so much, and I'm glad that you love reading this as much as I love writing it. Enjoy the next installment. (Oh, yes, chapter title WAS lifted from a Gandalf line.)*~*~  
  
  
--CHAPTER NINETEEN: At the Turn of the Tide*~*~  
  
  
Éowyn peered outside, almost positive that she'd heard the sound of hooves creating a drumbeat along with the pounding rain. The occasional crack of thunder added to the racket. A gust of wind whipped through her long hair as she stuck her head out the window, squinting in the dark as the violent rains sprayed her face, hurting her eyes.  
  
The moon was hidden behind a thick cloak of black clouds, but Éowyn was able to make out a lone figure in the darkness. Someone was riding away from Edoras, down the mountainside. Éowyn sighed; she was unable to tell who was on the horse, no matter how long she stared at the mysterious rider, whose shadow was getting smaller and smaller.  
  
Admitting defeat, Éowyn shut the heavy window, pulling back towards the warmth of her chamber. She retreated to her bed, feeling the heavy weight of doubt slip over her once more. There was so much she needed to know, and so little time to learn.  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya entered her bedroom, quickly divesting herself of her wet dress. She pulled her sleeping clothes over her head, admiring the dry fabric, and shook out her wet locks. She climbed into her bed, letting her eyes drift shut, her mind wandering to the future. She knew that it would not be long before Rohan was at the mercy of her and Wormtongue combined. They would be, together, unbreakable. She lay quietly with the conviction of someone who knew she was safe.  
  
Just as she was about to fall into a comforting sleep, she heard the soft clicking sound of the front door opening, and then closing just as quietly. Enelya's eyes snapped open as she heard footsteps in the hallway. She slowly realized that she had not see Náwien's horse outside the house when she'd returned home.   
  
Suspiciously, Enelya rose from her bed, and walked silently down the hallway, pleased to see that no moonlight trickled in from the windows; her shadow was invisible to the human eye, though she was sure that her presence carried an icy chill.  
  
Sure enough, Náwien was in the kitchen, seated in a chair. She was bent at the waist, her head in her hands, and she was running her fingers through her hair continuously in frustration. Enelya hung back in the doorway and watched, interested. She stared at her sister for a few moments, long enough to get bored with the sight before her, and finally cleared her throat. She was pleased at the way Náwien jumped, startled, but her satisfaction did not last, for she saw a glimpse of anger mixed with fear flicker through her eyes. Something was not right.  
  
"Enelya," she said, rising to her feet.  
  
"Where have you been?" Enelya asked curiously, leaning against the wall casually. Náwien stared at her, looking hesitant for a moment, before straightening and regaining her dignified stare.  
  
"At the Golden Hall," she answered firmly. "I spoke with your friend. Gríma."   
  
Enelya raised her eyebrows slightly, but did not say anything. She forced down the bubbling anger that was slowly rising up through her throat, and waited for Náwien to continue.   
  
"He told me of your plan," she pressed on. Enelya's eyes widened only slightly, for she was trying desperately to control her raging emotions. Náwien's next words crashed down around her, and she concentrated on them individually, speaking slowly, one word for every excruciating second. "I've decided to help you."  
  
A flash of white heat skittered across Enelya's line of vision, and her body sprang forward as if it had a will of its own. Before either could comprehend what was happening, Náwien was slammed against the wall, Enelya's hand wrapped tightly around her upper arm. Their faces were inches apart, and their eyes bore into one another's. Náwien caught her breath, as she was taken aback by her sister's sudden display of brutality. However, her stony expression did not change, and she resumed her speech, ignoring the fact that Enelya's grip was quite painful.  
  
"Do not let your jealousy get out of hand," Náwien said bravely, her eyebrows raised slightly, mocking her sister. "You can keep Gríma all to yourself, for I do not desire him romantically, nor does he take an interest in me. The three of us share something, my sister. I would not ruin it by hurting you in that way."  
  
Enelya absorbed her words, hanging onto the sound of her voice. Her hand loosened on Náwien's arm, and she finally let go, stumbling backwards slightly, shocked at the way she'd behaved. Her rage had been great enough to snap her sister's neck, and now, she trembled at the thought. She had been so quick to race to violence when Náwien was not even trying to deceive her. Enelya groped for a chair, sinking into it, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She knew that, deep down, she loved her sister, and in a moment of panic - where she thought that she might lose all that she'd obtained recently - she was ready to kill her. She did not know what life would be like without Náwien, but she also could not fathom the idea of reverting back to her former self. Enelya realized suddenly that her sister was staring at her questioningly, and she stood, regaining as much of her serenity as she could manage.   
  
"I am sorry for the way I acted," she said softly, raising her eyes slowly to meet her sister's stare. "You may help us if you do so desire."   
  
Náwien nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. Enelya turned, heading for her chamber, suddenly overcome with a feeling of drowsiness. She murmured a good-night to her sister before walking, in a daze, to her room.  
  
Náwien stared after her for a long time, breathing a sigh of relief. She leaned against the wall for support, closing her eyes, drained from all the lies she had drowned herself in that night. Lying to Wormtongue was one thing, but speaking false words to her sister was another. It was hard to trick her - she was sure that Enelya was going to be able to tell at once that she was being deceitful. As she spoke to her sister, Náwien found herself speaking in a strange icy tone, and yet, at the same time, the sound of her voice was as familiar to her as the sunrise. She realized, quite quickly, that she had only been imitating Enelya's tongue as of late. Her voice could have easily been her sister's.  
  
~*~  
  
The sun was, perhaps, brighter than it had been in days. Éomer was among the first to notice this, as he awoke early and dressed. His hands stilled upon his battle clothes, and he wondered if he should put them on, being as Rohan was anticipating many attacks over the next few days. It was inevitable.   
  
Before he could decide on his apparel, he heard a lilting female voice call to him. His head snapped up at the sound, and he glanced about, wondering who was shouting his name.  
  
When a few moments passed without anther disturbance, he turned back to the armor before him, deciding that he must have been hearing noises inside his head.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien clamped her own hand over her mouth as she realized that yelling Éomer's name in the Golden Hall was not the wisest thing to do, especially since she'd just sworn her "loyalty" to Wormtongue and Enelya the night before. She continued through the halls silently, deciding it was best to keep quiet. It was early yet, but she did not know who was awake and who was still fast asleep, and she did not want to rouse any resting evil.  
  
Náwien paused outside a doorway, seeing Éomer standing in a chamber; armor lay out on the bed in front of him. She stared at him for a few moments, watching as he stared at his battle clothes, as if he was about to make an important decision. She briefly wondered if she was right in deciding to keep from him the information that she'd gathered the night before. Quickly, she pushed all second thoughts from her mind, for she'd reached the same conclusion every time she pondered the conundrum: it was safest to hold back until she was certain about the possible treachery she'd discovered. Náwien herself was not even sure what Wormtongue's plan actually was. However, she knew that the answer to her questions would be uncovered within a matter of days, and when she held all the keys, she would come forth to Éomer. Náwien would be, as she'd always wanted to, the great hero.   
  
"Éomer," she said softly, startling him accidentally.  
  
"Good day, Náwien," he replied, turning to greet her, his surprise unmasked. He had not spoken with her since the day of Theodred's death, and he was still confused about her mysterious words.  
  
"I am sorry for what I said to you the other day," she replied. "I did not see."  
  
Éomer nodded slowly, waiting for her to continue, waiting for some sort of explanation. But there was nothing - only a heavy silence - for she was waiting as well. An image of Náwien, tattered and bloody atop her horse, flashed into his head, and he recalled the proud aura that radiated from her being. Perhaps she had, indeed, proved him wrong.  
  
"You do not need to apologize," Éomer said quietly, slightly unsure of the significance of what he was about to say. "I was mistaken in doubting you."  
  
Náwien's pale brown eyes widened somewhat, as his words rang through her ears. She almost refused to believe that he was confessing his faith in her. It was too surreal - perhaps she was dreaming.  
  
He went to her then, his hand brushing her shoulder softly. At his scorching touch, Náwien's breath shortened and she felt a heat creep up her neck towards her face. She was amazed at the electrical feelings that sizzled through her body - just at the slightest contact with him. It was, to say the least, bizarre.  
  
All of Náwien's coherent thoughts vanished in the next second, for Éomer's lips were upon hers quickly, and she had to cling to him to keep from slipping to the ground. There was nothing left to say - there were no words to compare to the utter euphoria of the unbreakable moment. His large, strong arms settled about her waist, his grip so tight that she was nearly lifted up from the floor.   
  
Náwien trembled with slight nervousness and anticipation as his hands dropped to the ties at the back of her gown. She felt the strings loosen, and cool air rushed against her shoulders as her dress was slowly undone. His rough palms began to cover every inch of her newly uncovered skin, and she tilted her head back, amazed and bewildered at the foreign feelings that she was drowning in.  
  
Suddenly, a loud commotion was heard from the main hall, and both Náwien and Éomer looked up, distracted by the sound.  
  
"It appears as though there are visitors," Éomer said, almost to himself. Náwien fumbled to adjust her dress, blushing profusely as she realized how much of her body was exposed. "Come. Let us greet them."  
  
She followed him out of the chamber, their moment of passion easily forgotten. They both stopped short in the main entrance of the Golden Hall, and regarded the four strangers who had just passed through the doors. She glanced at Éomer, who appeared to recognize them, for his smile was shining with the sense of something familiar.  
  
Náwien stared at them openly, astounded at their presence. Never before had she seen such a widely diverse group. One was an Elf, with silky golden blonde hair and piercing stormy eyes. Another was a stout Dwarf; his dark brown beard was braided extravagantly, and he bore a stern gaze. The third was a tall man, with dark hair and startling blue eyes. His expression was quite somber, but she could sense a gentleness in his attendance. Finally, Náwien's eyes came to rest upon a tall Wizard with shining hair and a long beard. She took in a sharp breath, for she was stunned at the wisdom that was buried deep in the wrinkles in his face, behind the brilliance of his eyes. She was not aware of the fact that her mouth was hanging open in astonishment; she was caught up in the awe-filled moment. Náwien knew that she was not a fortune-seer of any sorts, but even she, of such little age and experience, could feel the warmth that they brought into the Golden Hall. She could tell that life in Rohan was about to take a turn for the better. Perhaps there wouldn't be such darkness after all.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Yay!*~*~ 


	20. Where Faith Ends

~*~*A/N: I saw TTT for the tenth time today! Yes, I do feel special. Oh, also, I'll say this about the rest of the story: I am following the book, loosely. (Quotes from the book are obviously Tolkien's work. Disclaimer in disguise.) If you notice that I leave certain things out, it's not because I forgot to add them, it's because I'm cutting things that aren't relevant to my characters' plights. I hope you understand why I am doing this. Enjoy the next part.*~*~  
  
  
  
--CHAPTER TWENTY: Where Faith Ends   
  
  
  
"Who are they?" Náwien whispered, glancing at Éomer, who was entranced by the presence of the four guests.  
  
"Three, I met a day ago," he replied, never removing his eyes from them. "The fourth is called Gandalf, I believe. Perhaps he is here to change Rohan's fortunes."  
  
"We can only hope," Náwien agreed.  
  
"Aye…although it is a dangerous thing to do. Hope, that is. For I know where such faith ends."  
  
Náwien did not respond; she only pretended that she did not hear Éomer's disheartening words. For the first time in weeks, a warm light was present in her heart, and she did not wish to be rid of such wonderful emotions so quickly. A loud sound caught her attention, and her gaze slammed to the left, where Enelya had just burst through the double doors of the Golden Hall. Náwien's eyes flicked to the other side of the room, and a shiver ran down her spine upon noting Wormtongue slink in from the shadows. She slowly moved away from Éomer, as to not let them see her associating with him, for she knew she must keep up the pretense of being in league with Enelya and Wormtongue. It would not do to ruin her so-far successful plan.   
  
Wormtongue quickly strode to Théoden, whispering something unintelligible in the King's ear. He sat, motionless and unresponsive.   
  
"Hail, Théoden, son of Thengel!" Gandalf called, "I have returned."   
  
The tiny hairs on the back of Náwien's neck stood on end at the sound of his voice. Éomer was wrong to think that there was no sense in having faith. Hope poured from the four guests of the Golden Hall.  
  
She switched her stare to her sister, who was dividing her time by watching Wormtongue intently and staring at Gandalf nervously. Upon noting Enelya's worried expression, Náwien's trust in the wizard soared. If his presence was making Enelya uncomfortable, then he must have been trying to bring peace to Rohan. It only made sense.  
  
Slowly, Théoden rose from his throne, wobbling slightly from the movement. All eyes turned to him and he was watched carefully as he struggled to his feet with much effort.   
  
"When I heard," he said, his voice raspy and thick, "that Shadowfax had come back riderless, I rejoiced at the return of the horse, but still more at the lack of the rider." Théoden paused, working to finish the rest of his thought. "When I heard that you had gone at last to your long home, I did not mourn. But news from afar is seldom sooth."   
  
The wise wizard ignored the insult, and kept walking to him. Náwien stared in shock at his nonchalance.  
  
"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow? Tell me that." Théoden slowly returned to his seated position on the throne, and Náwien's eyes widened. So Éomer was right; Gandalf Greyheme was truly before them. It was nothing short of a miracle.  
  
"You speak justly my lord," Wormtongue said softly to the King before standing to meet Gandalf's stare. Náwien noticed Enelya's lips twitch in a slight smile at the sound of his voice. "What aid have you ever brought? And what aid do you bring now?"   
  
Again, Gandalf's face remained blank, his eyes dancing slightly. He did not appear affected at all by Wormtongue's words or dark tone.  
  
"Or do you seek aid rather than render it?" he continued. "Do you bring men? Do you bring horses, swords, spears? That I would call aid; that is our present need. But who are these that follow your tail? Three ragged wanderers in grey, and you yourself the most beggar-like of the four!"  
  
The Man and Elf shared a look, but said nothing. Gandalf sighed.  
  
"Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth," he ordered sternly, and Náwien had to bite her lip to control herself from grinning. "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a serving man till the lightning falls."   
  
He raised his staff then, and a shining light flashed through the room. It was so blinding that every soul in the room was compelled to raise arms to shield their eyes from the white blaze. Náwien squinted behind the safety of her palms. Wormtongue's cry carried above the murmurs of shock that flitted through the room.  
  
"His staff! Did I not counsel to you to forbid his staff?" he shouted in despair.  
  
There was a loud thud as the painful light slowly dimmed. When it was safe, Náwien lowered her hands and her eyes widened; Wormtongue was knocked flat upon the floor. Enelya's jaw dropped and she raced across the room to him, but the dark haired Man who arrived with Gandalf caught her before she could reach him.   
  
"Stay here," he ordered sternly, preventing her from moving forward, though she continued to struggle in his grasp.   
  
"Not all is dark," Gandalf said, continuing to Théoden. "Take courage, Lord of the Mark; for better help you will not find. I bid you come out before your doors. Too long have you sat in the shadows and trusted to twisted tales."   
  
Náwien's eyes grew large with disbelief and happiness as Théoden stood slowly, and walked with Gandalf, and Éowyn, who had suddenly appeared at his side, towards the Doors. The guards stepped out of their way, speechless at the sight of Théoden walking towards the outside world. She turned, slowly meeting Éomer's gaze. His dark eyes were watery with amazement, and she smiled gently.   
  
"Could it be?" he said softly as the Doors opened, and Théoden stepped out. A brilliant light shone into the Golden Hall, and it was not blinding, but comforting instead. "Could all the darkness end here?"   
  
Náwien's smile faltered then, as she looked down at Wormtongue upon the floor, and Enelya still trying to wrench herself from the strange Man's grasp. She knew that there was, unfortunately, more shadow to pass, for there was still the immediate threat provided by her sister. However, Théoden's return would change their luck for the better.  
  
The Doors opened once more, and Éowyn entered, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. Her lips were pulled upwards in the first smile Náwien had seen her display in weeks. She flew to her brother, throwing her arms around him in a powerful hug. Éomer staggered backwards a few steps before regaining his composure, and returning his sister's embrace.   
  
"He is saved," Éowyn whispered against Éomer's shoulder. "Gandalf has freed him!"  
  
Náwien watched the exchange, her own eyes misty with happiness and relief. The moment was quickly interrupted as Háma's voice boomed through the hall, echoing against the high ceiling. Two other guards were on either side of him, and they all bore the same grim visage.  
  
"Gríma," he called, striding to him and pulling him to his feet. "The King summons you to the landing outside the Golden Hall. You must come with us now."  
  
The two guards grabbed him by the arms and dragged him towards the Doors. Enelya twisted in the Man's arms, and yanked out of his grip at last. She ran after the guards, drawing Éomer, Éowyn, Náwien, and the three cloaked guests after her. They all crowded onto the landing, and watched as the two guards dropped Wormtongue at Théoden's feet.   
  
Náwien gaped at the King. In the sunlight, his eyes shone a brilliant blue, and his skin looked once again lively. She looked to Gandalf, hoping that her expression did the gratitude in her heart justice.   
  
Háma bent to Wormtongue, and threw back his black cape. He pulled a sword from his side, still sheathed, and stood, handing it to Théoden.   
  
"Here is your ancient blade, Herugrim."   
  
Wormtongue's pale eyes flashed, but he did not allow his face to show any more emotion than that moment of brief anger. Théoden grasped the gold handle of his sword, marveling at the way the green gems glittered in the light. Slowly, he drew the weapon from the scabbard, feeling as if he was shaking hands with a friend he had not seen in some time.  
  
"See, Théoden, here is a snake," Gandalf said, narrowing his eyes at Wormtongue. "With safety, you cannot take it with you, nor can you leave it behind. To slay it would be just."  
  
Náwien's mouth opened slightly, and she nervously looked at Enelya, terrified at the flames that burned in her sister's eyes. Did anyone else notice the way she was fuming?   
"But," Gandalf continued, "it was not always as it is now. Once it was a man, and did you service in its fashion, I suppose. Give him a horse and let him go at once, wherever he chooses. By his choice you shall judge him."  
  
Náwien wanted to jump out and scream for them to kill him, that he was a danger to Rohan and to Théoden. But she held back her tongue, for she knew that doing so would only cause more trouble. There was naught she could do but watch with fear and anticipation.  
  
"This is your choice, Wormtongue," Théoden said bitterly. "Ride with me to war, and let us see in battle whether you are true, or go now, whither you will. But then, if we ever meet again, I shall not be merciful."  
  
Wormtongue stood slowly, his eyes hard as steel. He stared at Théoden for what was only a few seconds, but felt as long as an age. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, he spat at the King's feet with a snarl before turning and sprinting down the stone stairs. Náwien gasped, and her eyes met Enelya's for a brief moment. Her sister's face was mixed with respect and astonishment. At the bottom of the steps, Wormtongue turned, and looked back up to the large crowd upon the landing.  
  
"Enelya!" he yelled. "Náwien! I bid you join me down here."   
  
Enelya nodded, stepping forward willingly. Náwien's heart pounded as she felt all eyes on her. Gandalf was now regarding her with an inspecting stare, as was the Elf, Man, and Dwarf. Théoden's eyebrows raised suspiciously.  
  
"Come on, Náwien," Enelya said, grabbing her sister's hand. "If he is to go, there is no place for us here."  
  
"Wait, Ene-"  
  
"Come now!"   
  
"But you don't unders-"  
  
"Now, Náwien!"  
  
Náwien turned, meeting Éomer's gaze for a brief second. He stared at her in horror, his lip curled up in disgust as though she was no more than a foul Orc. Náwien would never forget the way he looked at her that morning; from that second to the end of her days, it would be her most heartbreaking memory.   
  
In the next moment, Éomer looked away, shaking his head sadly, and Enelya was pulling her down the stairs. Náwien tripped over her own feet, barely noticing as she fell to the stone harshly. Enelya hauled her upright, dragging her towards Wormtongue. She continued to look behind her, her eyes glued to the landing. Náwien glanced wildly between Théoden, Éowyn, and Gandalf. Certainly they could tell that she was loyal to Rohan - they must have known.   
  
But they only regarded her with the same contempt as Éomer did. They thought her no better than Wormtongue himself.   
  
"Get on," Wormtongue said, motioning to his black horse. When Náwien did not move, he nodded to Enelya, and they both lifted her onto the steed. Wormtongue climbed on in front of her, and extended a hand to help Enelya up as well. He dug his heels harshly into the animal's side, and they rode off, pushing through crowds of villagers. Náwien kept her eyes fixed on the Golden Hall as they tore away from Edoras, never failing to look away, even as it became a tiny speck, which transformed itself easily into nothingness.  
  
"Where are we going?" Náwien asked in a whisper.  
  
"To Isengard," Wormtongue answered from in front of her. "To meet with Saruman."  
  
Náwien shut her eyes, forbidding any tears to slip from her closed lids. She realized with a sense of dread that Éomer had been right all along.   
  
"I know where such faith ends," he had said only earlier that day. It seemed like years ago already. Hope was, indeed, a dangerous thing.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. I loved writing it. The plot thickens once more! But, if you're flipping out, don't worry…remember…this is going to be 35 chapters long, at least. Probably a little more. So there's plenty of chances for things to fix themselves between Náwien and Éomer. *~*~ 


	21. Of Brilliant Plans and Tragic News

~*~*A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger. Hehe. Again, this chapter contains some De-altered book dialogue. Enjoy! And I'll say some stuff to you guys first. I haven't done that in a while. (I'm just looking at the latest page of my reviews, so if I don't mention all of your names, don't kill me.)  
  
-HATHOR: Yes! They are here! (Like I'd really write a fic without Aragorn.) And I apologize for the cliffhanger, again. Will there be more cliffhangers, you ask? Oh, count on it. ;)  
  
-MORGAN: I know…sadly, bad guys don't win. They should sometimes though.   
  
-DEPTH: Glad you like! Welcome to the realm of reviewers.  
  
-RONDRAH: Yep, Náwien is pretty cool. And Éomer rocks my world as well.  
  
-CALCIFERSGRL: Yeah, Wormtongue is awakening all of Enelya's inner desires. And it didn't seem as though she craved power before because she didn't know that she did until Wormtongue started his seduction.  
  
-EBOLA: No, no 3-some. And, yes, Wormtongue is one of my favorite characters. (But no one beats my Elessar/Strider/Aragorn/Wingfoot/Elfstone, etc.) You get the picture.  
  
-DWELLS IN SHADOW: I apologize for your physical discomfort. ;)   
  
-SHINIGAMI NO BAKA: Oh, yes the plot has thickened, and has yet to thicken even more. Thank you for your compliments.  
  
-TARA: Oh…you'll see.  
  
-RACHEL: There will be some sort of Gríma/Náwien situation later on, but not in the way you might think. You'll see what I mean.   
  
-ITHILWEN: Ents? Perhaps. And I've seen TTT ten times! Mwa-ha-ha.  
  
-LUNATIC: I thought 20 has been my best as well. And I'm glad you liked my altered dialogue.  
  
Okay! Here it is!  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
--CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: Of Brilliant Ideas and Tragic News  
  
  
  
Éowyn regarded her brother closely, noting his pained expression and confused dark eyes. They stood together on the stone landing outside the Golden Hall, after all the others had disappeared within the wooden doors. The sun was high in the sky, and it beat down on them intensely, keeping the pressure high on Rohan, making it impossible to believe that life could revert back to its once peaceful state.  
  
"Éomer," she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm gently.  
  
"How is it possible that we did not see this?" he murmured, and Éowyn wondered if he was speaking to her, or himself.  
  
"We knew that Wormtongue was up to something," Éowyn said practically.  
  
"But Enelya and Náwien-"  
  
"There was something ill at work in Enelya's heart," Éowyn interrupted. "There had been for some time. I was unable to fit the pieces of the puzzle together until now."  
  
"And Náwien?"   
  
"She is young," Éowyn replied. "Her youth causes her to be easily swayed." She directed a pointed stare at Éomer, which he pretended not to notice.  
  
"Where do you suppose he will take them?" Éomer wondered aloud, though he already knew the answer.  
  
"Isengard, I would assume, though I cannot say for sure," Éowyn said, looking out over Edoras with a sigh. There was a long silence, and then Éowyn turned to stare at her brother, her gaze pensive, as if she were debating something with herself.  
  
"What is it?" Éomer asked, sensing her hesitation.  
  
Éowyn did not answer right away. She looked towards the mountains in the distance again before finally speaking.  
  
"I saw you that day," she said quietly. "Náwien was with you - and it looked as if you had become romantic with her. Unless, of course, my eyes were deceived by some spell."  
  
Éomer glanced downward, remembering the event all too well. He could easily recall the mixed feelings of doubt and desire - the way he'd longed for her touch just as much as he'd feared for the consequences of such an entanglement. It was his heated emotions thrown together in a contradictory jumble of certain tragedy that lead him to his current state. And it turned out that the disheartening side of his thoughts had been fully correct about almost everything. He had once thought to himself that nothing good could come from his sudden attraction to Náwien - that there would be no dawn for them. And he knew now that he had been absolutely right in doubting himself. For he knew that their fates were obviously of different paths; Náwien had chosen darkness, and such a decision was unforgivable.  
  
"Éomer?"  
  
He turned, fixing his stare upon Éowyn. She blinked up at him, her eyes questioning and full of curiosity.  
  
"Your eyes did not trick you," he admitted, "but you may as well have been deceived, for what you saw held no truth."  
  
Éowyn was surprised, to say the least, at her brother's sudden dark tone. He turned then, walking back into the Golden Hall, leaving her alone on the landing. While she was glad that Éomer was no longer dangerously involved with Náwien, she could not help but feel as though he was giving up his faith too quickly. If there was anything that Éowyn learned from Gandalf's arrival in Rohan, it was that there was always a chance for a miracle. Every so often, fate was kind. Hope was not something to lose so quickly, even if the days ahead seemed dark as night.  
  
~*~  
  
The sun was strong, and hung low, never very far, like a warning. The wind whipped through Náwien's blonde hair, blowing it straight out behind her. The breeze was cool on her face and neck, but the calmness of the wind was not equal to the growing fear in her heart. She knew that she was in over her head - there was nothing that could keep her from drowning now. If Éomer and all those loyal to Rohan would not look beyond what only *seemed* to be the truth, then there was no one who could save her from her own fate. She cursed herself now for not being honest with Éomer; she had been too far lost in the possibility of being a hero to see what could happen in her immediate future. And now it was too late. Not even the phenomenal wizardry of Gandalf could rescue her now. She was very much alone - as she's always been.  
  
"How much farther to Isengard?" Enelya asked. The sound of her voice pulled Náwien back to reality, and she focused on the frightening situation around her.   
  
"Some miles," Wormtongue answered. "We will ride through the night and reach Isengard before dawn."  
  
An idea settled over Náwien slowly. The threads in her mind began to pull themselves together into a comforting blanket of a tightly woven plan.  
  
"Why don't we make camp for the night?" Náwien suggested from her position behind both Wormtongue and Enelya on the horse.  
  
"What good would that do?" questioned Enelya. "We want to be able to speak with Saruman as soon as possible."  
  
"If we rest," Náwien argued, "we will be able to discuss our scheme. Saruman will be impressed if we come to him with a practical tactic. And we do want to please him, don't we?"  
  
Náwien waited breathlessly for a response. She still was not clear on who Saruman was, or of the exact details of the grand plan, but she hoped that her voice was believable. Neither Enelya nor Wormtongue replied right away, and each second that went by without a sound increased Náwien's heartbeat significantly.  
  
"Enelya, your younger sister might have struck upon something," Wormtongue finally said.   
  
Náwien breathed a small sigh of relief. Enelya turned her head to stare at her sister. Their eyes met, and Enelya raised her eyebrows as if to say, "If you're plotting anything, I will find out."  
  
Náwien broke the stare first, letting her gaze fall to the left. She cared not for her sister's threatening looks, for she'd gained a victory - a small one - but a victory nonetheless. By convincing Wormtongue to let them make camp, she'd bought herself the night to think of a way to fix her mistakes. The time was not long enough to escape immediately, but it was worth more than all the diamonds of the World. And at the same time, it was priceless.  
  
~*~  
  
Éomer and Éowyn walked together into the main hall, where Gandalf and Théoden sat, speaking to one another. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were also present. The three guests were eating and drinking eagerly, as if they'd not seen a well-cooked meal in some years. Éomer sat beside Aragorn, nodding politely to the heir to the throne of Gondor, and turned to listen to Gandalf. Éowyn took a seat across from Legolas, the fair Elf, and everyone in the room failed to notice the sideways glances that she threw to Aragorn every so often.  
  
"Wormtongue played dangerously," Gandalf was saying from his position adjacent to the King's throne. "He was always seeking to delay you, to prevent your full strength from being gathered. He persuaded you to forbid Éomer to pursue the raiding Orcs. Luckily for Rohan, Éomer defied Wormtongue's voice speaking with your mouth."  
  
Théoden turned to his nephew, unconditional gratitude shimmering in his clear blue eyes.  
  
"I owe much to you, Éomer, sister-son," he said, his voice shaky at the thought of what could have come to pass.  
  
"How far back Saruman's treachery goes, who can guess?" Gandalf said somberly.  
  
"It appears as though Wormtongue was not the only traitor in Rohan," Aragorn said then, drawing all eyes to him. "There were two women who left with him, though one could not have been a day over fifteen."   
  
"Where do they fit into this tale?" Théoden wondered aloud, looking at Éomer and Éowyn, each in turn.  
  
"One was my companion," Éowyn said, and she could feel Aragorn's gaze turn to her. She blushed slightly, and worked to keep her focus on her uncle. "Enelya is her name. The other is indeed only a girl, and she is a sister to her. She is called Náwien." Éowyn flicked her glance to her brother quickly, noting the way his eyebrows drew together at the mention of Náwien's name. She turned back to Théoden and Gandalf to continue her explanation. "They are the Carnesir sisters, daughters of Hálas and Frieda, both of whom are no longer alive. Frieda died while giving birth to Náwien, and Hálas took his own life two years after. Enelya had to care for her younger sister, under the watchful eye of neighboring villagers." Éowyn paused, it was impossible to tell whether her azure eyes glittered with sadness for the memories, or anger at their deceit. "Enelya is skilled with the blade, and can be considered a Shield Maiden, like myself. Náwien was in the process of learning the ways of the sword. Éomer was teaching her the proper mastery."   
  
"Aye, I was," Éomer agreed.   
  
"Never had either of us seen their darkened ways," Éowyn continued. "I do believe that they were both, at one time or another, true to Rohan. Wormtongue must have gotten to them in order to alter their minds so greatly."   
  
"Wormtongue does have a way with words," Éomer pointed out. "I am not surprised that he was able to pull them into his plan without difficulty."   
  
"Can they be saved?" Théoden wondered.  
  
Éomer shared a look with his sister before answering his uncle's question.  
  
"It is impossible to tell whether they are beyond our reach or not," he said. "Either way, we do not have the time to worry about them. We must think of the safety of Rohan."  
  
"Éomer is right," Gandalf added. "The Carnesir sisters are beyond our concern right now. Even if we could help them, we must look to our own borders."  
  
"Very well, then," Théoden concluded. Suddenly, he paused, looking around the room as if he'd just realized something crucial. He stood from his throne, eyes searching.   
  
"What is it?" Aragorn asked, glancing about as well, seeking whatever it was that had caught Théoden's attention so suddenly.  
  
"Where has Theodred been during all this?" the King asked, bewildered. "Will someone call my son to me?"   
  
There was a long silence, and Théoden glanced between his guests and kin, confused at their expressions.  
  
"Why do you all stare at one another?" he asked in wonder.   
  
Éomer sighed, and stood, willing to break the news that no one else could bring himself to speak aloud. He raised his gaze to his uncle's, anticipating the grief that was to follow.  
  
"I am sorry," Éomer said, his voice trembling over the three small words. "He was slain."  
  
Théoden's face fell blank, his eyes devoid of all expression. He sank to his throne weakly, for his legs would not hold his weight any longer. Slowly, he lowered his head to his hands in sorrow. Gandalf placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Éowyn's eyes filled with tears as she watched her uncle's despair. The silence in the hall was thick with woe, for there were no words to measure up to the heartbreaking loss that all of Rohan would suffer at word of Theodred's death. It was a tragedy for the King to lose his only son and heir, and the entire city of Edoras would mourn for days to come.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: One thing I always disliked about the book was how it sort of glazed over Theodred's death. I didn't think that he got the mourning that he deserved, so I added some more lamenting. Hope you all liked this chapter. Let me know.*~*~ 


	22. A Song From an Elf

~*~*A/N: Can't stay away. I've been looking forward to this chapter for a while, for some strange reason. Nothing really amazing is going to happen. But I have a strong desire to write it. Also, from my map, it seems as though there's 150 miles between Orthanc and Edoras. This may not be exactly on-target with my story, but, oh well. I don't think it's that big of a deal. And, DISCLAIMER: The song in this fic is OBVIOUSLY not mine. Tolkien wrote it. And, I know there were probably more reviews between 21 and 22, but FF.net is being strange, and I can't see any of them. So no personal messages here. Nevertheless, enjoy! This one goes out to all the Elf fans out there. *~*~  
  
  
  
  
--CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: A Song From an Elf  
  
  
  
The sky had turned a mysterious shade of navy, just shy of black, when Wormtongue slowed his horse to a trot. The calm breeze turned chilling, and a shudder ripped through Náwien's body. She wrapped her own arms around her chest, wishing that she had a shawl to cover her skin where her sleeves ended.   
  
"We will rest here tonight," Wormtongue announced, bringing his horse to a full stop.  
  
Náwien glanced around, having troubling seeing clearly through the dusky air. They were hidden between the mountains, not very far from Rohan. There was a small stream flowing between the rocky hills, and as the water blew across it, it sent another violent shiver through Náwien's spine.   
  
"Is it safe?" Enelya wondered nervously.  
  
"Aye, it should be," he replied, dismounting first, and extending a hand upward to offer help to Enelya and Náwien. "I do not think that we will be discovered here. Nevertheless, always be on the lookout."   
  
Náwien sank to the ground, drawing her knees up to her chest underneath her dress. She traced patterns below her idly, scraping her nail in the dirt to construct various shapes and letters. When she ran out of room, she smoothed her palm over the soil, and started all over again, half-listening to Enelya's conversation with Wormtongue. Their talk of power and domination had become a monotonous buzz to Náwien's ear, and she grew tired of listening to the same thing over and over.  
  
"When we reach Orthanc tomorrow," Wormtongue was saying, "we shall tell Saruman of what we know regarding Rohan. It will not be long before he is ready to empty Isengard, and unleash his power. And we will be right there when it happens, for it will be a beautiful thing indeed."  
  
Náwien tuned out Enelya's typical response, and turned away from them, gazing towards the sky. There were no stars shining, which was fitting. Luckily, they had not been plagued with the usual rains as of yet, and Náwien hoped that the nightly storm would not return. The sky did seem unnaturally clear, and would have appeared normal, except for the fact that it was starless. Náwien wondered where the glittering stars had gone. Perhaps they, too, wished not to be in her presence.   
  
She sighed and continued tracing designs in the earth, letting her mind wander to brighter things. She needed to think of a way to redeem herself in the minds of the King and Éomer, though, she knew it would be nearly impossible. However, Náwien clung to the last strands of hope remaining, even though she knew it was perilous, as Éomer once told her.  
  
~*~  
  
Wormtongue's lids grew heavy with drowsiness, though he fought hard to stay awake. Enelya was asleep a few feet away, an arm thrown lazily over her closed eyes. He had been delighted at the way she ran to him quickly at Edoras, but was disappointed at the reluctance with which Náwien joined them. He'd assumed that she was just as intrigued with his scheme as Enelya was, but it appeared as though she needed a little more convincing. The thought did not bother him all that much, for he knew that he had the proper time to bring Náwien to his side fully. Once they arrived at Isengard, he would be able to tie everything together brilliantly. He anticipated her corruption with great desire.  
  
Wormtongue's eyes skipped over to where Náwien sat, and he was surprised to see that she was still wide-awake. She appeared pensive, and in the moonlight, her face was illuminated by a silver glow. He admired the way her youthful skin shimmered, the way her pale lips were parted slightly, shimmering with moisture from where her tongue had just washed over them. She raised a delicate hand to her face, brushing a few strands of blonde hair away from her eyes, and he could not help but imagine the way her hair would feel against his own hand - soft and silky as pure air itself. Yes, Wormtongue thought as he watched her, it would please him greatly to make Náwien just as dark as her sister.   
  
Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, for he could not delay sleep any longer. He was exhausted from the events of the day, and there was nothing he desired more than to rest for a while, even if it was risky.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien was almost asleep, when she heard the faint sound of someone singing.  
  
Her eyes snapped open, and she was suddenly alert to her surroundings. She leaned forward, straining her ears. It was not long before she heard the noise again. Hope soared through Náwien's veins, and she desperately prayed that the mysterious singer was a friend, and not an enemy in league with her sister and Wormtongue. With an inspecting glance to her sleeping "companions", Náwien rose slowly to her feet and carefully started towards the sound, following the voice, which carried through the air like a calm breeze. As she grew nearer, she began to be able to make out the words that were being sung ever so softly.  
  
"Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen  
yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!   
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier   
mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva   
Andunë pella, Vardo tellumar   
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni   
ómaryo airetári-lírinen."  
  
Náwien rounded a bend, and her eyes widened upon noticing the golden-haired Elf whom she'd seen earlier that day at the Golden Hall. He'd arrived with Gandalf and the other two guests. When he recognized her presence, he jumped, and immediately stopped singing. In the next second he was on his feet, and his hands snapped behind him to grab an arrow from his quiver. Náwien held up her hands in defense as he pointed his weapon to her heart, staring down at her coldly.  
  
"Please don't shoot," she pleaded softly, backing up. "I am not an enemy, though you may think it so."  
  
Slowly, the Elf lowered his bow, the harsh look never leaving his turbulent blue eyes.  
  
"If you are not an enemy, then who are you?"  
  
Náwien cast a wary look behind her before taking a step closer, whispering in a hushed tone. The Elf concentrated on listening to her, for she spoke extremely quickly, blurring her words together in a jumbled confession.  
  
"My name is Náwien Carnesir, and I am not a traitor to Rohan, contrary to what you may believe. My sister, Enelya, has turned to shadow, for she has become dangerously entangled with Gríma Wormtongue. I've been deceiving them in order to learn the details of their scheme. I do not wish to cause Rohan harm, which is why I have not spoken of this before. I did not want to endanger the King or any of the Riders. But so much happened today, and there was no time to explain anything to Éomer, and before I could even so much as blink, my sister was pulling me down the stairs to follow Wormtongue to Isengard. Surely you saw the way that she dragged me away from Rohan!" She paused for air, trying to fight back the tears that were working so hard to come forth all afternoon. There was naught she could do now, and she began to sob softly. "Please," she begged, looking up at the Elf through her tears, "you have to believe me."  
  
He stared at her for a few moments before reaching back to put away his arrows.  
  
"My name is Legolas," he offered, "and I knew from the start that you could not be as hypocritical as Wormtongue. You do not possess the same shadowed stare. There is something peaceful about your presence. I could sense it this morning at the Golden Hall."  
  
Náwien closed her eyes in relief, tears squeezing from her shut lids and slipping down her cheeks.   
  
"Come," he said. "I will take you back to Edoras."   
  
Legolas reached for her arm, but then stopped short, appearing perplexed. Náwien wiped her eyes dry with the back of her hand.  
  
"What is it?" she asked, noting his sudden hesitation.  
  
"I have an idea," he replied slowly, his dark blue eyes flickering with the growing heat of a plan. "You said only moments ago that you have been deceiving Wormtongue and your sister in order to learn of their scheme."  
  
"Aye," Náwien agreed, unsure of where his thoughts were headed.  
  
"Perhaps you should stay then," Legolas concluded, lowering his eyes to hers. "As a spy for Rohan. Your link to Isengard combined with your bond with Edoras could be a powerful weapon that will change our fortune for the greater. Will you do this?"  
  
Náwien nodded furiously, forgetting all fear she'd once had. Legolas was offering her another chance to prove her bravery - to do all that she'd dreamed. Perhaps hope was not yet lost.  
  
"Could I ask a favor of you?" Náwien questioned softly, as yet another idea sprung to her mind.  
  
Legolas motioned for her to continue.  
  
"Would you deliver a letter to Éomer for me, if I were to write one now?"   
  
He agreed, and handed her a single sheet of parchment and writing feather from his sack. He had brought them along with him on the journey, in case he ever wanted to write something down. It would be a true misfortune to forget any of the memories that he'd already acquired.   
  
Náwien bent at the waist, leaning on her own legs to scrawl a quick message in the common tongue to Éomer. Her heart pounded as she did so, as she imagined his rough hands skimming over the ink, his mind reciting her words silently. She signed her name with a flourish at the bottom, and straightened, handing both the parchment and feather back to Legolas.  
  
"What was that song you were singing?" she inquired. "It had a lovely tune to it."  
  
Legolas regarded her closely as he folded the paper and slipped it in his sack.  
  
"It is a melody that I once heard the Lady Galadriel sing," he answered, as his mind wandered back to his time spent in Lothlórien. "I was seeking solace in the wild, and the song came to my mind. It comforted me, for Galadriel's words are always of consolation."   
  
"I see," Náwien said, wishing that she knew Elvish as well.   
  
"Good luck," Legolas said. "I do not doubt that our paths shall cross again."  
  
"Farewell," Náwien whispered, as the Elf slowly retreated into the shadows, singing once more. Náwien returned to the small campsite, humming the tune of Lothlórien under her breath. Her heart felt lighter than it had all day, and she was beyond pleased to know that there was still hope remaining. It gave her the courage to continue through the dark days ahead of her, knowing that there would be light at the end.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Lets all just have one big Legolas fangirl squeal for the hell of it: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!. LoL. Okay. Enough of that. Let me know what you thought. *~*~ 


	23. Preparing to Leave

~*~*A/N: Sorry for the lack of chapters lately. Since X'mas Vaca is over, I've been really busy with school and rehearsals and stuff. I promise that this story will get finished, but you have to just be patient with me. I might not be able to update once a day anymore. Also, I changed some of the sequencing of the book. Forgive me. Nevertheless, here's 23.*~*~  
  
  
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: Preparing to Leave  
  
  
Enelya's eyes fluttered open, and she blinked slowly a few times, allowing her mind to focus in on her surroundings. She was not yet immediately aware of the chilly breeze, and only noticed it when she felt her skin recoil from the cold. She glanced down, noting the goosebumps upon her arms. Lazily, Enelya rose to a sitting position, running her hands along the rocks beside her, feeling their smooth surface - slick with morning dew. The sun had risen only minutes ago, and the sky cast down a shimmering white, hazy light. Enelya realized that it had not rained the night before, for the ground was not soaked the way it usually was on a typical morning in Rohan. Perhaps it was a sign of the wonderfully glorious things to come.  
  
Enelya looked to her left, regarding Wormtongue carefully. He was sitting against the mountainside, his legs tucked underneath him, hidden in his black cape. In the startling sunlight, his skin appeared more pale and white than ever before, and contrasted sharply with his raven hair and cloak. His eyes were firmly shut, but Enelya suspected that he was really awake - that his eyes could snap open at any second to greet any unwanted visitors.   
  
Enelya's gaze shifted farther down to where Náwien lay, fast asleep. She watched her resting sister, briefly wondering of Náwien was truly faithful to herself and Wormtongue. Enelya had not failed to notice the way Náwien hesitated to join them in leaving Edoras - the way she'd stood quite close to Éomer at the Golden Hall. There was still something quite unsettling in Náwien's behavior, and Enelya was determined to keep a close watch on her sister. Blind trust, she knew, was dangerous.  
  
Before her thoughts could lead her to the dark corners of her mind that she was quite afraid to visit, Wormtongue opened his eyes, looking around swiftly.  
  
"Morning already," he stated, gazing right into the sun, caring not about the pain. "Come. We must resume our journey."  
  
Enelya nodded; she, too, was anxious to reach Isengard quickly. Wormtongue stood, walking towards his black horse. Enelya crawled to Náwien, shaking her shoulder gently.  
  
"Náwien," she said, her voice soft. "It is time to continue on the Road."  
  
Náwien's eyes flickered open, and she raised her arms above her head, stretching out her entire body and yawning - like a cat. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she struggled tiredly to a sitting position, adjusting to the bright light of the morning.  
  
"Are you ready to set out?" Wormtongue called from his position atop the horse.  
  
"Come on."  
  
Náwien followed Enelya to the steed, allowing Wormtongue help her up. They galloped off quickly, leaving no traces of the campsite behind. It was as if they'd never been there at all.  
  
~*~  
  
Éomer and Aragorn sat across from Gandalf in the Golden Hall. They talked idly, doing their best to have a moment of peace without letting their hearts hang heavily with guilt over the current state of the world. Aragorn puffed on his pipe idly, his mind obviously tremendously occupied. The past few events of the days before had been altogether tiring.  
  
Gandalf began a long-winded speech regarding Théoden's choices concerning Saruman, but was interrupted as the doors burst open. Legolas walked in, Gimli at his side. In his left hand, he held a single sheet of paper, which he brandished like a weapon.  
  
"Legolas!" Gandalf greeted him. "Where have you been during this night?"  
  
The Elf joined his companions at the table, and Gimli sat beside him, never far, as usual.  
  
"I come bearing news from a friend," Legolas announced, gesturing briefly to the parchment in his hand.  
  
"A friend?" Aragorn echoed, sharing a curious look with Éomer. Legolas nodded, spreading out the paper upon the wooden table.  
  
"A letter?" Gandalf asked.  
  
The golden-haired Elf nodded once more, his dark blue eyes glittering mysteriously, as if he knew a secret that the others did not. A small smile tugged at Gimli's lips as well.  
  
"It is for you, Éomer," Legolas stated, pushing the parchment towards the Rider. All eyes turned to him, and he reached for the letter slowly, his eyes trained on the Elf's puzzling expression. Finally, he glanced down, examining the scrawled words. The others watched his face intently, looking for any signs of emotion. When he reached the loopy signature at the bottom, he blinked in disbelief before raising his gaze up again to reread the entire note.  
  
"Who is it from?" Aragorn asked.  
  
"And more importantly, what does it say?" Gandalf added.  
  
"It's from Náwien," Éomer stated, his voice full of surprise.  
  
"Náwien?" Gandalf repeated, raising his eyebrows doubtfully. "I thought you and Éowyn said that she betrayed Rohan."  
  
"It appeared that way," Éomer said quietly, a faraway look in his eyes as he processed this information. Aragorn reached across the table for the letter.  
  
"May I?"  
  
Éomer nodded, waving his hand carelessly.  
  
"Read it aloud, Aragorn," Gandalf urged. Aragorn glanced to Éomer for permission, who nodded distractedly. He cleared his throat, skimming over the letter briefly before reciting the words to his friends.  
  
" 'Dear Éomer,' " he read, " 'whether you believe my words or not is beyond my power, but I beg you - please listen to this carefully. I am not a foe of Rohan - I have never been, nor will I ever turn against Théoden. I have never deceived you; rather, I am deceiving my sister and the King's treacherous advisor, Gríma Wormtongue. They believe that I am in league with them, when, in actuality, I am only putting on a farce in order to learn the depths of their plan.  
  
" 'I understand that this will be difficult to believe, and I can only hope that you will trust your heart. One day soon, I will prove to you my loyalty, and my love.' "  
  
Aragorn raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing, and only continued.  
  
" 'I do not doubt that I will be in touch with you again soon. Do not despair, for hope is not yet lost. With love, Náwien.' "  
  
The entire company was silent for a few moments, absorbing her words. Legolas watched them all, searching for signs of belief - or lack thereof.   
  
"Can she be trusted?" Aragorn asked finally. Éomer sighed; he did not have to glance up to know that the question was addressed to him. "Éomer?"   
  
"All we can do," Éomer said finally, "is wait and see. Náwien is either lying to us, or she is lying to Wormtongue. I will not put full faith into her words, for I am wary of her trust. I will not let my guard down again." He paused, glancing down at the letter. "We will see her real intentions eventually. In the end, she will have to chose openly."  
  
"Aye," Gandalf agreed. "That, indeed, will be the moment of truth. We will-"  
  
"And until that moment," Éomer interjected, "we cannot allow ourselves to be troubled with such concerns over Náwien's loyalty. As we said yesterday, we must focus on the safety of Rohan."  
  
"Your maturity is impressive, Éomer, son of Éomund," Gandalf said, with a small, yet warm, smile. "It is very admirable of you to think of your own people before yourself."  
  
Éomer nodded in thanks for his kind words, yet, though he knew that he was proving his sophistication, he could not help but feel a hollow emptiness in the pit of his stomach. The cold feeling clawed at his insides, working its way to his heart, but he would fight it. He would stand by Rohan first until Náwien truly proved her fidelity.   
  
Suddenly, the doors opened, and Théoden entered, beside Éowyn and Háma.   
  
"I have come to a decision regarding Rohan," he announced, snatching the attention of his nephew and his companions immediately.   
  
"And what is the King's decision?" Gandalf asked, speaking for all the curious members of his company.  
  
Théoden paused for a moment, as if he was thinking his conclusion over quickly…making sure that it was right. The cloud of hesitation left his eyes quickly, and he smiled sadly.  
  
"We will depart," he declared. "The people of Rohan will go to Helm's Deep for safety."   
  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Enelya and Náwien will arrive at Isengard with Wormtongue in the next chapter. And it's going to be long. So you all have some great things to look forward to in it. I hope you liked this one. *~*~ 


	24. Pitch Black

~*~*A/N: Been a while, I know. Midterms are the root of all evil (along with computers.) But here we go anyway. This chapter is not really book-verse or movie-verse. It's De-verse. And…it's going to get dramatic. (As if it hasn't already….) *~*~  
  
  
  
--CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: Pitch Black  
  
  
  
Náwien noticed the skies overhead growing darker - the gray clouds were thick with an ominous warning. The gloomy sky hid all sights of the sun, but Náwien knew that it was still there, shining, even if she could not see it.  
  
The wind took on an eerie chill - the cold seeped underneath Náwien's skin, touching her bones. They were very close to Isengard - they all could feel Saruman's power as they drew nearer to him.  
  
Wormtongue's ebony horse galloped on, never seeming to run out of breath. Náwien leaned slightly to the right, watching in awe as the ground whizzed by in a flurry of deep greens and browns. She straightened and tightened her hold on her sister, for fear of losing her balance.  
  
"Look," Enelya breathed suddenly.   
  
Náwien peered into the distance to see what Enelya was referring to. She squinted against the dark fog and was able to make out the distinct shape of a tall tower. The top of it poked through the black clouds, proving the strength and power of Isengard. Náwien's eyes widened as she sensed the cold evil, which radiated from its general direction. She knew that she was diving into the most dangerous situation she'd ever experienced, and yet, she knew that she had no other choice. She'd been assigned to this fate ever since she decided to fake her alliance with Wormtongue and Enelya. Náwien wrote her destiny herself, and signed in her own blood.  
  
"Yes," Wormtongue said, acknowledging Enelya's previous exclamation. "Orthanc is very close."  
  
~*~  
  
Saruman the White watched, mesmerized, by the sight of his faithful Uruk-hais beneath his tower. They were waiting for his directions, willing to do his bidding. He smiled with satisfaction - there was nothing that made him happier than to look down upon his followers - his slaves. For they would always be standing tall - ready and waiting for his command. They were fearless and strong - Saruman believed that an army of Uruk-hais was a thousand more times effective than a band of humans. Mortal men had too many weaknesses - their emotions often got in the way of the ulterior goal. Uruk-hais did as they were told without any questions asked - without a backward glance or second thought. They did not take the time to ponder life and its significance the way men did. Yes, Uruk-hais were certainly superior to men on many levels.  
  
There was one man, however, that Saruman entrusted some faith in. Gríma Wormtongue had been his ally for some time, and he was waiting earnestly for his arrival. Gríma was expected back in Isengard any minute, and Saruman was anxious to hear of what news he brought from Edoras.  
  
Saruman, being a wizard, and a powerful one at that, knew all about Gríma's entanglement with the Carnesir sisters of Rohan. His palantir, as well as his mind, brought him great insight regarding Gríma's infatuation with the two girls. While he was less than thrilled at the idea of having more weak humans to disturb the thick calm of Isengard's darkening shadow, Saruman knew that the girls were easy to control. And from what he could conclude, he assumed that Gríma had already done a fabulous job of captivating their minds.  
  
The sound of hooves against the hard ground caught Saruman's attention, and he glanced downwards, his dark eyes settling on Gríma's black horse. The steed carried three riders: Gríma, and, as Saruman had predicted, the Carnesir sisters. He watched them carefully for a few moments, before retreating into his tower to descend the stairs and greet his visitors.  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya's deep blue eyes grew as large as saucers as she took in the sight of Orthanc looming above her head. Her gaze slowly traveled skyward; eyes carefully raking every inch of the dark stone tower. At the top, on a balcony, stood the man she'd seen before behind her closed lids. His long white hair was sparkling clean, despite the murky wind that ruffled his mane. His flowing white robes flapped in the harsh breeze, and he stared down at them with a chillingly stern expression. Finally, after what seemed like an age, but was merely a few seconds, he turned, and disappeared into the tower.  
  
Wormtongue brought his horse to a full halt, and leapt down to the ground. Enelya followed suit, and turned to help Náwien, who looked as though she might faint any second.  
  
"Are you all right?" Enelya asked her sister, watching her expression carefully.  
  
"I'm fine," Náwien said softly, as though she were in a daze.  
  
"Come," Wormtongue said impatiently. "I am sure that Saruman is waiting."  
  
On perfect cue, the large heavy door of the tower opened, and Saruman stepped out dramatically, holding his staff in front of him.  
  
"My lord," Wormtongue greeted him, bending his head forward in respect and honor. Enelya copied the motion, and, a second later, Náwien did the same.   
  
"Greetings," Saruman said, his voice like raven silk. "I have looked forward to your arrival. Follow me; we will talk inside."  
  
The three trailed the wizard through the grand door of the tower, listening to it slam shut with an echoing bang behind them.   
  
~*~  
  
Saruman lead his guests through the winding halls and dark corridors, finally coming to rest in his throne room. He gestured to a few scattered chairs before settling in his large black throne. Wormtongue introduced the girls - Náwien and Enelya, he said their names were. Saruman stared at them carefully, watching as Enelya hung onto every word Wormtongue uttered, her lips parted slightly in awe. She seemed as if in a trance, her eyes glazed over in a strange fashion. Saruman then shifted his glance to the other girl, picking up on her rigid position in the chair, eyes darting around. He noticed the way she chewed nervously on her lower lip, breathing heavily as though her heart was pounding at a ridiculously fast pace. It was apparent that she did not want to be there.  
  
"Welcome to Isengard," Saruman said to the Carnesir sisters, deciding it would be better to treat them well and ignore their presence later than to furiously plot a way to be rid of them. Besides, they could both be helpful. "I understand that you have formed a bond with Gríma. You have agreed to assist our forces."  
  
"That's right," Enelya said, speaking for both her and her sister.  
  
"And what of you?" Saruman asked, pinning Náwien with a stony stare.   
  
"Aye," Náwien said in a voice surprisingly steady. "I have agreed."  
  
"Very well then," he said. "What news do you bring?"  
  
"Rohan is weak," Wormtongue informed him, leaning forward in his chair slightly. "Very weak. They do not have the proper strength to repel an attack on the city."  
  
"Interesting."  
  
"I am sure that Théoden will not stay at Edoras," he continued. "If my knowledge of Théoden's personality is correct, which I am sure that it is, it is no secret that he will send his people to the refuge of Helm's Deep. Oh, it is a dangerous move to make."  
  
Saruman nodded, a small grin playing upon his lips, as his mind worked fast to come up with a plan. Wormtongue continued to talk of Théoden and Rohan, but Saruman tuned out his words, thinking only of the destruction he would bring upon the world of men.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien looked around the empty chamber that Saruman had given to her. The room was located on one of the top floors of the tower, making an escape difficult.  
  
Not impossible - just extremely difficult.  
  
A large canopy bed with black sheets and drapes took up most of the floor, and a large full-length mirror framed with opal and rubies hung on the opposite wall. She stood before the glass, regarding her reflection closely. She was wearing a black cloak that Saruman had presented her with, as a gift, (Enelya had an identical one), and her long blonde hair fell limply past her shoulders. She turned away from the mirror after a few moments, for when she looked into the shimmering pane, all she could see was her sister's twisted smile staring back at her.  
  
Weighing her options briefly, Náwien finally climbed into the bed, for she was weary with toil, and night was quickly closing in. There was not much she could do until she heard from Rohan - until she knew that they'd read her letter, and believed her story.   
  
As she thought of Rohan…of Edoras, Théoden, Éowyn, and Éomer…a warmth slowly filled her, like the gentle strokes of the sun on a budding flower. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to be flooded with images of the Golden Hall - of the way her life was before she fell into her sister's evil plan. The way her life would be once she brought Wormtongue and Enelya down for good.  
  
Suddenly, the creaking sound of the door caused her eyes to fly open, and her gaze flitted around the room. She sat up, squinting in the darkness, wishing that she hadn't blown out the only candle, for she could not see who was slowly walking towards her. It was only when the intruder sat on the edge of her bed that she realized it was Wormtongue.  
  
"Náwien," he whispered in the blackness. A shiver ripped through her body at the sound of her name uttered in his raspy voice. He extended a long finger to touch her cheekbone lightly, and she recoiled at his touch in disgust. "You're so quiet," he said, leaning closer, "so reserved. I can never tell what it is that runs through your mind."  
  
"Don't touch me," she said, stumbling backwards on the bed. She couldn't see anything, but she felt his presence…inches away…his breath hot and rancid.   
  
"You told me," he replied, "that you wanted a part of our plan. You wanted to form an allegiance with us."  
  
"I do," Náwien said, grasping to keep up her pretenses.  
  
"Then why do you draw back from me?" Wormtongue asked, his voice like a metal spring, playing with her. He knew the answer to his own question, and yet, he still asked it. He leaned forward, his face right in front of hers, and stared at her with his pale blue eyes. Náwien's blood froze, and she felt a coldness trickle through her body. An icy fist seemed to grip her heart as she felt Wormtongue's lips settle over hers, soft at first, but then hard with a purpose. After a few seconds of enduring this excruciating kiss, Náwien wrenched away, her feet kicking at the sheets.  
  
"No," she exclaimed, groping along the posts of the canopy bed for a way out of the drapes. "I won't do this."  
  
Wormtongue laughed bitterly.  
  
"How long have you been deceiving us?" he hissed, grabbing her wrist, preventing her from leaving. She gasped audibly at this, shocked at his knowledge of her true emotions. Quickly recovering, she tried to feign innocence.   
  
"What are you talking ab--"  
  
"Do you mistake me for a fool, Náwien?" Wormtongue asked harshly, his voice eerily quiet. "I know that you aren't true to your word. I can feel it in your very being." To emphasize his point, he stroked the skin on her forearm lightly, drawing a nauseated shudder from her.   
  
"When Saruman finds out," he continued, "he will have no mercy. You will be killed."  
  
"Why don't you just kill me now?" Náwien asked bravely.  
  
"I could, couldn't I?" Wormtongue responded. His hand dropped to the mattress, and, for a second, Náwien thought he was reaching for his sword, and she braced herself for a quick flash of pain. She was taken by surprise when he took hold of her long skirt, pushing it up towards her hips. A blush crept from her neck to her cheeks, and she struggled to move out of his grasp.  
  
"You can't do this," she said hoarsely, trying to free herself. Wormtongue only laughed, working to move her skirts out of the way. He was obviously angry at her treachery. "I'll scream," she warned.   
  
"And who will come to your aid?" he asked, his hand moving roughly up her thighs. "Éomer? Other Riders from Rohan? I doubt they will hear you so many miles away." His voice dropped a notch. "I have desired you for quite some time now," he told her. "I have greatly anticipated this moment."   
  
Náwien blanched as he moved atop her with ease, pinning her wrists above her head. What could she do in the end? The more she squirmed, the harder he pressed her against the black sheets. Sometimes, silence was the best response.   
  
She winced in pain as he took her violently, not caring that she'd never been with a man before. She'd thought for sure that this experience would be reserved for Éomer. Never would she have imagined it happening in the darkness of Isengard, amidst the numb feelings in her heart.  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya walked down the long corridor towards her chamber, but stopped upon hearing muffled voices. She stood motionless for a few moments, straining her ears. She finally gathered that the noises were coming from Náwien's bedroom, and she turned on her heel. The door was ajar slightly, and Enelya stuck her head in. The chamber was pitch black, and it was impossible to see anything, but, squinting, she could make out two figures on the bed.  
  
Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, Enelya realized what was happening before her very eyes. The truth slammed into her harshly, and she took a giant step backwards, her eyes wide with disbelief. She spun around, unable to look at the moving shadows any longer, for she knew that her sister had lied to her.   
  
But her sister was not the only one who had deceived her. Wormtongue had as well. And perhaps it was Náwien who he'd wanted all along. She was just a stepping stone to his true conquest.   
  
Enelya's eyes narrowed angrily. Her original plan had unraveled itself in a matter of seconds, like a torn wool blanket, but the strands of a new scheme were being woven together at the same moment. But this time, she would not allow her petty emotions to drive her. There was no point in wasting her energy on feelings that had no truth to them. In the end, all that mattered was what she accomplished.  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Let me say a few things, because I know I probably annoyed lots of Éomer/Náwien fans. Don't worry. They'll see each other soon. And everyone who's a Wormtongue fan…I know I sort of made him seem like a jerk in this chapter…but I'll redeem him in 25. And to everyone who liked the rape scene…thanks! Let me know.*~*~ 


	25. Just a Moment in Time

~*~*A/N: Rock on…I'm glad you all enjoyed the last chapter. Here's the next installment, complete with another Legolas cheer. Also, this is where my story takes a bit of an AU turn. I know that some of the things that happen don't completely coincide with the book, but that's why it's fanFICTION! Right?! Right! Enjoy.*~*~  
  
  
--CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: Just a Moment in Time  
  
  
Minutes seemed as long as full lifetimes for Náwien that night. She'd laid awake until dawn, her ears alert to every sound, eyes fixed on every hidden shadow. Before Wormtongue had left her room, he'd warned, "Don't even try to escape. Saruman will find you, on any path you may take. It is over, Náwien."   
  
She looked towards the small window high above her. The murky veiled sunlight slipped through the black panes, casting a pale gray haze over the entire room. Náwien lay motionless in her bed, her wide eyes fixed on a crack in the ceiling, as she contemplated her current situation. There was not much she could do. Once Saruman found out that she was not actually in league with them, he would surely have her killed. And then there would be nothing for her left…no way to help Rohan or Éomer.  
  
Unless….  
  
A fleeting reminder of yesterday's conversation between Saruman and Wormtongue passed through her mind. They'd spoken of Helm's Deep…of a battle. Perhaps, if she were to die in Isengard, there was still a way to warn Rohan of the upcoming danger. Náwien closed her eyes, deep in thought, and a blurry image of Legolas flickered behind her closed lids.  
  
"I do not doubt that our paths will cross again," he'd said, before mounting his horse and galloping away.  
  
Náwien bolted upright; the familiar feeling of a blossoming idea slipped through her body. She searched the room frantically…there was no sign of any parchment or feathers. Muttering to herself angrily under her breath, Náwien began to pace the confined area like a caged animal. Coming to a quick and spontaneous decision, she bent at the waist and gathered a fistful of her skirts in her hand, raising the fabric to her mouth. With her teeth, she ripped off a small square of her dress. Glancing about hurriedly, her eyes settled upon the jagged edges of the black stone windowpane. Náwien rushed to it, and, without a second thought, she pressed her finger to it, and pulled downward, the skin of her fingertip slicing open easily. She barely noticed the pain, and reached up to whip a hairpin from the tangles of her dirty mane. Using her own blood like paint, she coated the point of the hairpin with the thick crimson liquid and lowered it to the fabric of her dress. Her work was slow and detailed, and she looked to the door nervously every few seconds, fearful of an intruder to interrupt her. When the cut on her index finger dried, she raised her hand to the windowpane again, this time slicing open her middle finger. After a few minutes, the small square of material was filled with deep red words, and Náwien placed it on her bed to dry completely. Only then did she acknowledge her hand; her pale skin was covered in blood, for she'd ripped open every single one of her fingers, and even a few inches of her palm. Scars, she knew, would haunt her for the rest of her life. That is, if she lived long enough to let the wounds heal.  
  
~*~  
  
Théoden gave a long look to Edoras, wondering if he would ever see his beloved home again, before turning to his companions, who were leading the people of Rohan towards Helm's Deep.  
  
"Come," he said to them. "Let us linger no more."  
  
He looked towards Éomer, who was speaking quietly to Legolas. Then, to his surprise, his nephew whistled, bringing forth a dark brown horse. Legolas dismounted his own steed, helping Gimli off as well.  
  
"What sort of madness is this?" wondered Théoden aloud. Aragorn, too, looked confused.   
  
Without responding, Legolas leaned forward, whispering a flurry of Elvish into his former horse's ear. The animal leaned back on its hind legs, whinnying loudly. It took off, galloping north, carrying naught but air upon its back.  
  
"Do not worry," the Elf promised, climbing atop his new horse. "I know what it is that I am doing."  
  
Théoden gave him another doubtful look, but said nothing. He did not press Legolas for any further information; to ask any Elf a question was folly, for he would only reply "yes" and "no" all at once.  
  
"We ride on!" Théoden commanded, digging his heels into his horses sides.  
  
~*~  
  
"Good day, my lord," Wormtongue said, approaching Saruman in his throne room. The wizard slowly shifted his eyes to the faithful man, tearing his gaze away from the palantir, which stood alone in the center of the room, calling to him. He looked at Wormtongue closely, regarding his pale clammy skin and dark oily hair with loosely disguised contempt. He did not care much for the man, but had no complaints as long as he did his job thoroughly and swiftly.   
  
"My lord," Wormtongue said again. "I bring news regarding one of the girls. Náwien, the younger. She--"  
  
He interrupted himself, weighing the consequences of what he was about to confess to his master. It was, of course, the right thing to do, especially if Náwien proved to be a threat to Isengard. But Wormtongue could not bring himself to say the words. Telling Saruman that Náwien really was a friend of Rohan would be admitting a severe mistake on his part. Saruman would be most displeased. Before he could come to a decision, the wizard spoke.  
  
"Náwien," he repeated. "I sensed a reluctance in her. Are you sure that she is on our side, Gríma?"  
  
He hesitated briefly.  
  
"I…I cannot be sure," he answered nervously. "I do not have the wisdom that you possess."  
  
Saruman appeared thoughtful for a few moments, as he contemplated his options. Finally, he spoke, his voice deep and purposeful.   
  
"It would be a tragedy to lose all that Isengard has accomplished because of an insignificant villager of Rohan," he said. "It was not wise of you to bring them here, but I suppose you did not have any other choice at that moment in time."  
  
Wormtongue nodded his agreement enthusiastically, relieved at Saruman's words. The wizard held up his hand, signaling that he had more yet to say.  
  
"There is a way," Saruman continued, "to be rid of the silly problem that revolves around this girl, and, at the same time, test the loyalty of the elder."  
  
"And how would we do this?" Wormtongue asked, intrigued.  
  
"By simply requesting that Enelya kill her younger sister," Saruman said nonchalantly. "It really is very practical. If she agrees, we can forget about the imposing trouble, for she is obviously our ally. If she declines, it can be assumed that Enelya is, too, a foe of Isengard, and they both will be removed."  
  
Wormtongue nodded again, perfectly satisfied with the wizard's response. He knew that he was safe, for the moment. Saruman did not seem to think he was a fool, and he had no reason for keeping either of the Carnesir sisters alive. His infatuation with the two of them had slowly worn off. His fiery desire was reduced to a small fizzle of energy that sputtered and died like a candle in the wind. There was naught left but the breeze; the reminder of what once was.  
  
~*~  
  
Clutching the piece of fabric to her chest tightly, Náwien slunk through the winding corridors, pressing her body against the walls. She quickly descended the stairs, her feet lightly brushing the stone steps. Unsure of the way out of the tower, Náwien held her breath, and took a left turn at the base of the staircase, hugging the wall the entire way. To her utter surprise and relief, she found an exit, and slipped through, into the dull daylight. With a wary look behind her to the tower, she broke out into a run, letting her legs take her as fast as they could.  
  
She just reached the gates when she heard the sound of galloping hooves in the distance. Looking around in despair, Náwien assumed that someone had found her. She waited for the enemy to close in around her, but to her shock, a horse bearing no rider emerged from the shadows, heading towards her with a purpose.   
  
Náwien stared at the beautiful creature for a few moments, knowing that she recognized the steed, but was unable to put her finger on why it looked so familiar. Then, like a flash of lightning, she remembered her encounter with Legolas…and the horse on which he rode off. Forgetting her plan concerning the square of material which bore her desperate warning, she reached up to the horse, prepared to mount, but stopped short when she heard someone spit out her name.   
  
Náwien turned frantically, seeing Enelya start towards her. Abandoning all thoughts of escape, she quickly thrust the piece of fabric at the horse, strapping it to its back, and then she nudged it towards the gates, silently begging it to ride back from whence it came. To her relief, the horse turned, galloping south once more, leaving her alone with the cold air. Náwien took in a deep breath, and whirled to face her sister.   
  
Enelya marched towards Náwien with a purpose, her blue eyes drawn to angry slits.   
  
"What ails y--"  
  
Náwien was cut off by a harsh slap across her face. Her head hung to the side for a moment, as she was stunned by the violent gesture. Her skin stung from the impact, but she quickly regained her composure.   
  
"I saw you," Enelya hissed. "Did you think that you would get away with lying to me for that long?"  
  
"You don't understand the half of it," Náwien shot back, feeling her blood boil at the accusation that swelled in Enelya's voice. "And you are a fine one to talk, aren't you, Enelya? Lying…cheating…that's your nature now, is it not? How dare you even come to me with these allegations, when you are guilty of the same and more?"   
  
Enelya's face seemed to darken with a mixture of rage and shock. She was rendered speechless at Náwien's gall. Her sister had never spoken to her in such a tone before, but what surprised her more was the truth in her words. They stared at each other for a few moments, and in Náwien's eyes, Enelya could see the deep story of their past, and the tangled web that was woven long ago. It tore at her heart, nearly driving her to tears, and at the same time, compelled her to lash out with her sword. Before she could do either, or anything in between, Náwien pushed past her, walking back towards Orthanc. Enelya stared after her for a long time, even once she disappeared from sight, confused, and at the same time, accepting, of the strange feelings within her heart.  
  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: I hope you guys liked it. Let me know.*~*~ 


	26. The Horn that Spoke of War and Hope

~*~*A/N: Glad you all enjoyed 25! For everyone who's made some sort of speculation about the end, all I can say is, "no comment". And, let me clear up any misconceptions that my A/N before ch 25 might have caused. I didn't mean that this story was going to become a full-on AU. It won't alter the trilogy in any major way. There are just some minor things that don't coincide with the books. I just wanted to make that point before someone went off saying, "Blah blah blah this doesn't keep with the books; you haven't read them!" Yeah. That annoys me. But, anyway, enjoy!  
  
  
--CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: The Horn that Spoke of War and Hope  
  
  
Náwien walked hurriedly through the halls of Orthanc, trying to find her way back to her chamber, and her mind wandered to the events, which had just occurred. She grew angry with Enelya all over again, not only for her harsh accusations, but because she interrupted her only means of escape. She hadn't planned on such a golden opportunity, and when she'd seen Legolas's horse running towards her, she'd thought for sure that her luck had changed for the better. It seemed to be a miracle.  
  
Of course, the moment only lasted for a few blissful seconds until Enelya ruined it. Náwien knew that she shouldn't be so disappointed, for she'd accomplished the goal that she'd originally set out to meet. Legolas's horse would surely deliver her warning, and Rohan would at least be aware of the impending danger. She'd done all that she could for them, and now, was forced to suffer her own fate. She knew that it would not be long before one of Saruman's minions came for her. There was not much time left before it was truly over. If there was any hope remaining, Náwien could not see it, nor did she try to. Keeping the faith was, as Éomer swore time and time again, only dangerous. There was only so much tragedy that Náwien could take - she did not wish to bring any more sadness upon herself.  
  
Náwien rounded a corner, and halted, frozen in front of an open doorway. Wormtongue stood before Saruman in his throne room, speaking with him quietly. She could not make out their words, for they were talking in hushed voices, and the echo of the room mangled their speech. Neither of them noticed her presence, but when Wormtongue turned, his profile was illuminated by a misty stream of sunlight that slipped through the bars of the window. The sight dove straight to Náwien's heart like a razor-sharp blade. She let out an audible gasp as the memory of the previous night came flooding back to her suddenly. She recalled the cold feeling of dread that had unraveled in her stomach and snaked its way up her body, silencing any scream that began to fester in her throat, blinding her. Realizing that Wormtongue and Saruman probably heard her cry, Náwien flew for the wall, pressing herself against the cool stone, hoping that they wouldn't be able to see her. She squeezed her eyes shut, catching her breath, and tried her hardest to remove the mental images of Wormtongue's sudden and unexpected violence from her mind. But it was useless. Every nightmarish happening of the past few days played itself over and over behind her tightly shut lids. And even when her eyes snapped open, she could not be rid of the growing terror that was blazing inside her like an inextinguishable fire.   
  
Náwien groped for the railing of a nearby staircase, leaning her full weight against the wall, for she could no longer hold herself upright. The strength and determination that Náwien had worked so hard to construct was rapidly deteriorating. She stumbled into her chamber, her eyes immediately coming to rest on the four-post canopy bed, sheets still twisted from the previous night. She tore her gaze away, this time fixing her stare on the jagged-edged windowpane. Drops of dried blood clung to the sharp stones, and Náwien blanched again, holding up her crimson-stained hand. Both visuals shook her, rattling the remains of her calm, and as the unstoppable grief and fear mounted to their peak, Náwien slowly sank to the floor in despair. The terrifying memories quickly combined with thoughts of Rohan and Éomer, whom she would probably never see again. A sob slipped from her throat, racking her entire body violently. There was so much she still desired to do…so much more to prove. And yet, there was naught for her to do but lie silently and wait for the inevitable blackness of death. She shut her eyes, sobbing soundlessly, the stone floor cool against her cheek. She'd never felt so drained before…drained of everything she once knew in order to feel alive. She had nothing remaining in her heart but the pain of what once existed, the bitter taunt of what could have been, and the emptiness of what would never come to pass.  
  
~*~  
  
Enelya walked through the empty corridors stiffly, her motions zombie-like. Her eyes were wide and wild, looking everywhere, and seeing nothing. Her ears were alert to every whisper, but the only sound that filled her mind was the steady beating of her own heart. It kept her feet firmly on the ground, reminding her that she was still alive.  
  
As she passed Saruman's throne room, she heard someone call her name, dragging her back to reality completely. She turned, and entered the room, glancing to Wormtongue. She cared not to even attempt to disguise her anger, and she stared at him with a look of utter hatred, pleased at his puzzled expression. Enelya then shifted her gaze to Saruman, who had been the one to beckon her.  
  
"There is something that I must ask of you," the wizard began calmly, his face devoid of all emotion.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
He flicked his eyes to Wormtongue, and the two shared a look as if there was some secret that Enelya was not yet aware of. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Saruman to state his request. Finally, he redirected his gaze to Enelya, and she met his stare with false patience.   
  
"It has come to my attention that your sister may not be as true as she claims to be," Saruman told her. "I fear that she is actually a friend of Rohan, which could present danger for Isengard. We cannot risk failure, especially now that we've come so far."  
  
Enelya nodded; she'd sensed the same, especially during their latest exchange that occurred by the gates. She held onto Saruman's words, anticipating what he was going to say next.  
  
"Because of this," he continued, "Náwien must be killed. She is useless to us, and, more importantly, it is perilous to keep her alive." He held her gaze for a few moments, pausing, inspecting her expression, and Enelya drew in her breath sharply. She felt as though her soul was hacked open for his viewing. "It would be noble of you to do this for us. Isengard needs it from you, Enelya."   
  
"You want me to take Náwien's life," Enelya repeated slowly, as if she were unsure that she'd heard him correctly.  
  
"Yes," Saruman stated matter-of-factly.  
  
Enelya turned his words over in her mind, her head nodding in a robotic fashion, as though she had no choice but to agree. The air around her seemed to thicken, and it pressed against her ears, almost deafening her with its quietness.   
  
"Excellent," Saruman exclaimed in his usual serene and deep manner.  
  
"When do you wish for me to do this?" Enelya questioned obediently, feeling as though her mouth was moving without her permission.   
  
"Tonight," he answered. "Before the rise of the morning sun."  
  
"As you wish."  
  
Enelya turned to look at Wormtongue briefly, who met her gaze blankly. She remembered the way he once was able to cause a hurricane of emotions and strange thoughts inside her, just by looking right through her eyes, but now she only felt a dull anger. She stared at him coldly, hoping that he could detect the harsh feelings, which raged inside her heart. Neither Náwien nor Wormtongue were loyal to her. When it came down to it, Wormtongue was only faithful to Saruman - he betrayed everyone else without a second glance.   
  
Enelya's hand slid to her side, her fingers closing about the hilt of her sword. She turned her head, lowering her eyes to the floor, and she imagined drawing her blade slowly, sinking it into Wormtongue's heart, and destroying it the way he'd destroyed hers. Yes, killing Náwien would be a prelude to the satisfaction that Wormtongue's death would give her. And then, she would be alone with Saruman…alone to revel in the power that she would solely share with the great white wizard. There would be no one left to stand in her way.   
  
Enelya was finished with emotions and love. As she learned all too painfully, it only ended in sorrow.   
  
"You may go," Saruman said, dismissing her from the throne room. "I wish you the best of luck tonight."  
  
"I will succeed," Enelya promised him, once more spitting out words that she could not control.  
  
She forced a tight smile at the wizard, and shot another blazing glare to Wormtongue before whirling swiftly and exiting from the room in a sweeping manner. She ignored the fact that her heart was heavy in her chest with dread, and continued towards her chamber, but was stopped when Saruman called her back quickly.  
  
"Enelya," he boomed. "Please return. There is something I wish to show you."  
  
~*~  
  
Somewhere, a horn was blowing.   
  
The sound was so far away, and Náwien wondered where it was coming from. Every time she focused on the noise, she slipped, drifting from it once more. Finally, she held onto the sound, following it, feeling her sense of reality return. Her eyes opened, and she glanced around the room, her temple throbbing.   
  
Slowly, she raised her head from the floor, swallowing thickly. The roof of her mouth was dry, and her throat burned. Her cheeks were slick with tears, and her aching hand was sticky with dried blood.   
  
The horn continued to blow, louder now, and Náwien climbed to her feet, swaying unsteadily. She staggered towards the window, blinking rapidly, clearing her blurred vision. She disregarded the ruby blood on the windowpane and peered out the obscure glass, a soft cry slipping from her lips.   
  
Outside, at the base of the tower, gathered a swarm of Orcs. There were so many that there seemed to be an opaque black cloud on the ground. One blew a horn loudly, giving the call of war.   
  
Náwien's jaw hung open in awe as she shifted her glance to the left, noting a balcony a few floors beneath her chamber. Saruman stood upon it, next to Wormtongue and Enelya, calling down to the Orcs loudly.   
  
"March to Helm's Deep!" Saruman commanded. They listened with intent, stomping their spears upon the ground in agreement.   
  
As their cries grew louder, Náwien flicked her gaze to her sister, noting her long black cape, which flapped in the severe wind. Náwien no longer wore hers; it sickened her to bear anything belonging to the evil wizard. Suddenly, she gasped, a brilliant idea shining in the back of her mind. If she managed to sneak out of the tower, she could be easily lost in the crowd of Orcs. If she followed the army, she would be lead straight to Helm's Deep…to her friends…to Éomer.   
  
It was a huge risk, but if she did not leave her chamber, she was sure to die there. Náwien took a deep breath, and made a mad dash for the door, neglecting the sharp pain in her head and the irritating ache in her hand. She had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. If she were to be killed that night, at least she would die trying to live.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Dun-dun-dun…cliffhanger! Sorry. You know you love them. Firstly, to my Gríma girls...relax. Don't worry too much about our favorite evil man. Also, I know Saruman's army was made up of Uruk-hais, but Náwien doesn't know the difference. Since this was pretty much in her PoV, I called them Orcs. Hope you enjoyed this. Let me know!*~*~ 


	27. Fingerprints in Blood

~*~*A/N: I wish I could skip this chapter and go to 28. But, alas, I cannot. I'm going to try to get both chapters done today. At any rate, this one contains a bit of De-altered book dialogue. Just a touch. I hope you enjoy!*~*~  
  
  
--CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: Fingerprints in Blood  
  
  
Helm's Deep appeared in the distance like a shimmering paradise. The mountains were flooded with sunlight from directly overhead, and the soft glow was beyond comforting. The people of Rohan gazed down upon the refuge with newfound hope shimmering in their eyes.  
  
"We are safe!" cried a villager in relief. A similar murmur rippled through the crowd.  
  
Éowyn shared a look with Éomer, knowing that it probably was not so. She shifted her gaze towards Aragorn, who sat tall atop his horse beside Théoden. After Gandalf departed, claiming that Shadowfax was to take him on an errand, Aragorn assumed his role as a leader almost equal to the King. Éowyn regarded Aragorn's nobility and air of strength with unmasked admiration. The two had barely exchanged any words, and Éowyn knew it was foolish to allow her heart to yearn the way that it did. But there was something deep in Aragorn's icy blue eyes that ignited her interest, drawing her to him. There was a painful history that he carried, and his intriguing nature melted away her icy front like a flame on a bank of snow. Éowyn knew that if she permitted the emotions inside her to grow, she would have nothing left to hide behind. Her false pretences of unemotional coldness would be destroyed. And yet, Éowyn did nothing to prevent this from occurring. Perhaps she, at last, understood her brother's unavoidable tragic involvement with Náwien. For neither of them could run very far before getting caught by their own hearts.  
  
~*~  
  
The fortress of Helm's Deep met the villagers with a strong silent promise of protection as they trotted through the gates. Men, women, and children looked around in wonder, thinking that their luck had changed, all feeling unlimited gratitude for the king.  
  
"There are caves within," Éomer said to Théoden, "where hundreds may lie hid; and secret ways lead thence up onto the hills."  
  
The king nodded. "We will hold our keep for as long as we are able to."  
  
"Let us hope that no shadow will find us here," Aragorn agreed quietly.  
  
The companions dismounted their horses and moved about, searching every inch of each rock, hoping to gain comfort of the new surroundings. In time, every nook, cranny, and narrow corridor would become as familiar as their own individual homes.   
  
Suddenly, Legolas looked up, alert. His misty blue eyes darted about, and his ears seemed to perk up like a graceful cat's.   
  
"What is it?" Aragorn asked him, noticing his friend's change in expression.  
  
"I hear something as well," put in Háma, the doorward.  
  
"It sounds like hooves," Legolas said slowly, concentrating on the galloping noise.   
  
"Could it be your horse?" Éomer asked, his voice catching with hope. Legolas was already jogging towards the gates, his feet springing silently on the stone floor. Éomer followed him, releasing pounding sounds with his footsteps in contrast to Legolas's silent run. Aragorn and Théoden shared a curious look, for they did not understand why the Elf had suddenly switched horses at the beginning of their journey. The only ones who comprehended the strange happening were Éomer and Gimli. But the Rider had run outside after Legolas, and the Dwarf was not about to share any information. Having no other choice, Aragorn sighed, and motioned for Théoden to join him at the gates. Gimli followed, and, curious as well, Éowyn and Háma tagged along.   
  
Outside, the companions found Legolas and Éomer rushing up to the Elf's horse.  
  
"He carries no one," Legolas stated sadly, reaching up to touch the animal's bare back, as though making sure that his eyes did not deceive him.  
  
"And I will tell you why," Éomer said, dark eyes flashing. "Náwien must have taken one look at this horse and laughed. 'Fools', she probably said. And we are fools to think that she would come back to Rohan. She certainly proved her loyalty to Isengard the day that Gandalf arrived at Edoras. What could we have expected?"   
  
Legolas shot a side-glance to Éomer, his eyes dancing slyly.   
  
"Your lack of faith, my friend, is truly discouraging."  
  
The Elf extended an arm and unfolded a long pale hand, revealing a square of dirty white fabric in his palm. The edges were torn and tattered, as though ripped by a blade. The corners were smudged with red fingerprints, and Éomer wondered if the color was from a crushed berry or a bloodied wound. Words scrawled in ruby covered the swatch of material, and from the loopy "N" at the bottom, he knew at once that the message was from Náwien. Éomer squinted, trying to make out the sentences; many of the words were smudged, making it hard to decipher.  
  
"'Helm's Deep'," Éomer read aloud. "'Great battle…Orcs…Saruman…destroy.'" He paused, glancing up. "This is no letter. It is a slur of words for us to interpret at our will."   
  
"It is obviously a warning," Legolas said.  
  
"Or a threat," Gimli added softly.  
  
"Will one of you explain the meaning of this?" Théoden requested, sounding only slightly irritated.  
  
"I sent my horse to Isengard," the Elf stated, "in hopes that Náwien would recognize the creature and ride back to us. But all that returned was this message."  
  
Aragorn leaned forward, taking hold of the slip of fabric. He inspected it for a few moments, his brow furrowed.  
  
"She wrote this in blood," he announced, giving it a dainty sniff. "Most likely her own blood."  
  
"May I?" Éowyn asked gently, reaching for it. Aragorn handed the piece of material to her, and she turned it in her hands.   
  
"This is part of Náwien's dress," Éowyn realized aloud, handing it back to her brother. "I recognize the fabric - I've seen her wearing this gown before."  
  
"So, the girl ripped part of her clothes and wrote us a warning upon it in her blood," concluded Théoden.  
  
"Aye, it appears that way," Aragorn agreed.  
  
"Why would she do that when she could have had a chance to escape?" wondered Gimli.  
  
"Perhaps she has more yet to discover in Isengard," Legolas suggested. "Her task may not yet be complete."  
  
"Or," Éomer said, his tone biting, "her words are no more than a well-disguised omen, and she is truly on the side of Saruman the White."  
  
"Why must you always look to the dark side of things?" Legolas asked with slight bewilderment. "Is it so hard to believe in your friends?"  
  
"I would rather focus on the safety of our people right now," Éomer answered in the same voice. "Let Náwien prove her devotion to Rohan in her own time. I have not the strength to worry about it."   
  
"And this," the Elf countered, gesturing to the piece of fabric in Éomer's hand, "this message that she wrote by ripping open her own flesh is not proof enough?"  
  
"That is correct," he replied harshly, throwing the cloth upon the floor and crushing it with the toe of his boot. "I care not for mysterious words. Let me see her loyalty with my own two eyes, and then, friend Legolas, we will have something to talk about." With a glare to the Elf, Éomer turned, marching back towards the fortress. Legolas stared at his retreating back for a few moments, his eyes narrowed hotly. Slowly, he bent to retrieve Náwien's note, which Éomer had so carelessly tossed to the ground.   
  
"Do not take his heated words to heart," Aragorn advised. "Éomer is passionate about everything he says and does. You know this. He shall come around in time."  
  
Legolas nodded, aware of the fact.  
  
"Regardless of whether Náwien's message was meant as a warning or a dangerous threat," Théoden began, stepping into their conversation, "we must take it seriously. If Saruman is unleashing an army against Helm's Deep, we must be prepared."  
  
Aragorn nodded his agreement. Théoden turned to Háma.   
  
"We will need a band large enough to fight against Saruman's power," the King said sternly. "Make sure every man and strong boy has proper equipment and armor. Ask Gamling for assistance!"  
  
"As you wish, your majesty," Háma replied obediently.   
  
"If Saruman thinks he can destroy us here and now, he is severely wrong," Théoden said, to his companions remaining by the gates. "We will survive, as we always have. Come, let us retreat."  
  
Aragorn, Legolas, Éowyn, and Gimli followed Théoden back inside, wondering what sort of night the sunset would bring. And if there would truly be a dawn for Rohan.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Yay. Let me know what you all thought of that.*~*~ 


	28. Forever Frozen

~*~*A/N: I apologize for not getting this chapter out sooner, like I'd promised. It's very long, and, as you will see, complex. It took me a lot of time to think of the right phrases for the crucial events that take place. I hope I did it justice…let me know if you needed a Kleenex. I cried while writing it. Without any more procrastination of any sorts, here it is.*~*~  
  
  
  
--CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: Forever Frozen  
  
  
  
The sun hung low in the sky, but any signs of a beautiful sunset were lost amidst the dark stormy clouds that were ever present in Isengard. Enelya gazed out the window for a few moments, almost wishing that the sky was coated with the familiar pinkish color she knew from back home. Rohan, though, seemed worlds away from Orthanc, although it was not very far at all. But it seemed like ages since she'd left.  
  
Sighing, she tore her eyes from the window, and bent, picking up her sword, still in its scabbard, from the floor. Without thinking too much about her actions, she strapped it to her waist, hearing Saruman's request echo in her mind, over and over. She knew what she must do. She would go to Náwien's chamber and kill her the way the wizard had instructed her to. The death would be only the start of the bloodshed that night…her blade would only begin to warm up. For after Náwien lay lifeless and broken at her feet, Enelya would find Wormtongue, and savagely remove all breath from his body. The very thought made her tingle with anticipation and excitement.  
  
Slowly, Enelya slipped from her room and padded down the hallway, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword comfortingly. She paused outside the door to Náwien's chamber, closing her eyes briefly, imagining the sharp blade driving deep into her sister's creamy skin, tearing at her heart. Her lips played in a smile, and she swung open the door, ready to confront her task.  
  
To Enelya's surprise, and slight dismay, the room was empty. She glanced around, her brow furrowed in confusion. If Náwien wasn't in her chamber, where could she have gone?   
  
Enelya raced to the window on the opposite side of the room, looking down at the grounds below. Her eyes widened as she saw a lone figure dart from the tower and head for the shadows. Náwien was trying to escape!   
  
In a flash, Enelya was sprinting down the corridor, sliding towards the stairs, descending them two...three…four at a time. She dashed for the large doors, smashing through them with a loud swinging sound. And all the while, she never removed her hand from the hilt of her sword. The thick handle gave her comfort, and holding it allowed her heart to beat steadily.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien approached the rear of the band of Uruk-hais warily. Up close, they appeared more terrifying than she remembered from her only battle at the borders of Rohan. She quickly shrugged on the black cloak that Saruman had given her, raising the hood up over her head. In the dim hazy sunlight, Náwien knew that she would resemble Enelya, whom the Uruk-hais had surely seen standing upon the balcony beside their true master. She could only hope that they would recall the image of her sister looming above them, and would treat her with the same obedience that they would give to the wizard. If the foul creatures mistook Náwien for Enelya throughout the entire journey to Helm's Deep, luck would certainly be with her.  
  
Náwien took a deep breath before falling into step beside the last row of Uruk-hais. She quickly assumed Enelya's poised stance, pretending not to care as one of the creatures looked over at her, snarling. She met its yellow eyes calmly, trying not to appear terrified.  
  
"Our master instructed me to accompany you," she said, hoping that she sounded braver than she felt. "We will go to war together!" Náwien raised her voice, drawing attention to her. "To Helm's Deep!" she shouted enthusiastically, throwing her hands in the air.  
  
The Uruk-hais echoed her cheer, banging their spears against the ground again. The sound was like the pounding of rain upon the mountainside; their cries like thunder. Náwien breathed a sigh of relief as they ran forward, driven by her words. She lagged behind, catching her breath, for she was trembling slightly from being so close to the entire army. Her plan had worked so far; the Uruk-hais did not question her presence. They truly believed that she was, in fact, Enelya. None of the Uruks had seen her sister close-up, being as the balcony was so far from the ground below. They did not know the minor differences in the two girls' appearance - did not know that Náwien's lips were slightly fuller, that Enelya's nose was a fraction longer, or that their eyes were two different colors completely. And the Uruks wouldn't dare harm her as long as they continued to assume that she was Enelya, for fear of Saruman's wrath.  
  
Just as Náwien began to pick up her pace again, she felt an icy hand grip her wrist, spinning her around. Her heart sunk in despair - she'd been so close to setting herself free. She raised her eyes to her sister, knowing that it was, of course, Enelya who had grabbed her. There was no one else she knew with hands so cold as her sister's.  
  
"Trying to escape?" Enelya asked bitterly, her eyebrows raised.  
  
"Please let me go," Náwien begged, trying to twist free from her grasp.  
  
"And where will you flee to now?" she asked. "Edoras? Théoden will have lead his people away from Rohan by this eve."   
  
"I know this," Náwien replied. She hesitated before adding, "I am going to Helm's Deep to fight."  
  
Enelya burst out laughing.  
  
"Please," she said, her voice twirling with amusement. "You know as well as I that you would be killed immediately. Are you still living in your foolish dreams of saving the day? Don't be silly, my sister, for you will only fail."  
  
"And if I do," Náwien countered, her jaw clenched in anger, "then I will die while fighting for what I believe in." She paused, noting the way Enelya's free hand lay still on the hilt of her sword. Swallowing any fear that arose at this sight, Náwien continued, lifting her chin proudly. "I would rather die alongside the true heroes of this tale than live in this shadowed realm with you and your despicable companions." She spat out the final words, her eyes blazing.  
  
"If they are so 'despicable', as you say, then tell me, Náwien, why you shared your bed with Gríma last night," Enelya demanded, her sharp fingernails digging into Náwien's wrist like razor-edged daggers. To her surprise, Náwien's eyes did not cloud over with guilt as Enelya expected. Rather, her expression turned slightly haughty, and she choked back a harsh laugh.  
  
"What you saw took place not at my will," Náwien confessed, her dignity never diminishing. "Is it difficult for you to accept, Enelya? That you were wrong to blindly follow Wormtongue into his careful plan of deceit?" She paused before pressing on, her speech quite familiar to Enelya. "Remember, dear sister," Náwien said, her voice smooth, "as you once told me, 'do not give your trust to the wrong people'. Valuable advice, is it not? I know it is, for 'twas a lesson that I learned all too well."  
  
Enelya stared at her younger sister openly, shocked at the ease with which Náwien threw her own words back at her. She realized the importance of what she'd stated so coolly - Náwien never intended to attract Wormtongue's attention, nor did she ever take interest in the way he obviously lusted after her. From the start, Náwien had been on the side of Rohan, and she'd only pretended to be intrigued by the power Wormtongue had offered in order to learn of Isengard's intentions. The truth settled over Enelya slowly, and she was silent for a few moments as she thought to herself. Perhaps Náwien had not betrayed her in the way she'd originally thought, but she had still been plotting against her. If Enelya set her free, Náwien would only run to Éomer to tell him all that she'd discovered while in Isengard. They would do everything in their power to bring Saruman down, at the expense of her death as well. Enelya felt her face grow hot with anger at the thought. It was crystal clear - from any angle or view - Náwien was the enemy.  
  
Enelya's fingers flexed around her sword, and she nodded to herself. Saruman had not sent her on an errand to chat with her sister - he'd instructed her to kill her. And she would obey his mighty request.  
  
Slowly, she drew her sword from its sheath, the metallic sound drawn out, echoing in the foggy air. Náwien swallowed thickly upon seeing Enelya's released weapon. The dusky sunlight danced upon the shiny silver blade, playing tricks on her eyes. With a force that surprised both sisters, Enelya threw Náwien to the ground harshly, taking a step towards her. She raised her sword up above her head, its tip white with the glare, threatening to strike at any moment. Náwien looked up at her sister, taking in the sight of the woman who'd been her only friend for years…who'd practically raised her. And now this…this is what it had come to. This is how it would end.  
  
Slowly, Náwien's gaze traveled upwards, climbing towards Enelya's face, where she stopped, locking their stares. Once upon a time, Enelya's deep blue eyes had sparkled warmly, but now there was nothing remaining in those orbs but a dull coldness. If ever asked, Náwien probably wouldn't have been able to state when the transformation had actually occurred; whether Enelya's demise was a painfully slow descent into shadow or a quick plunge was unknown to her. But she could not remember the last time Enelya's eyes glimmered with friendliness or joy. Their past was now only reduced to a faint whisper…a breeze in the twilight air.  
  
But now…something flickered distantly in Enelya's gaze. It was as if she were trying to recall an old song, but could only remember a few of the lyrics, and not the tune. The deep watery glaze over her eyes clouded, and then cleared, like the sun battling against a threatening storm. Náwien crouched upon the ground, frozen with fear and confusion. She held onto the faraway fluttering of light in Enelya's eyes, praying that it was the ever-present possibility of a final hope.  
  
~*~  
  
The sword was growing heavy in Enelya's hands, yet she continued to wield it high in the air to frighten Náwien away from moving. Besides, she was too distracted to bring her weapon down to waist-level. She was transfixed on Náwien's face, for looking down at her sister's features was like viewing an old portrait of herself.  
  
The light shone directly on Náwien, making her chiseled features shine with a youthful glow. By gazing at her straight, sharp nose, high cheekbones, full pale lips, and light eyelashes speckled with gold, Enelya felt as though she were staring at a younger version of herself, back when her own skin shimmered and eyes danced. Deep within every curve in Náwien's skin, behind every swell of her hair, Enelya could see her own face, peeking out at her, reminding her of what she used to be.  
  
Swimming in Náwien's honey-colored eyes were countless childhood memories, the way life was before Gríma Wormtongue stepped in and uncovered her hidden desires. She gazed at her sister, feeling as though a spell had come over her, for she could clearly make out images in the deep waters of Náwien's irises. Enelya was sure that her mind was playing tricks on her. But the visions were as bright as a new day. She saw her mother faintly; the woman she never knew, for Frieda Carnesir died while giving birth to Náwien, sixteen years ago. Enelya briefly wondered if she blamed her sister for Frieda's death, if she resented Náwien for taking away her mother. Before she could entertain this thought, the fluttering picture in Náwien's eyes changed; a tragic slideshow of their past. She could see herself and Náwien, running together through the road, barefoot. They were obviously laughing, but the sound was unheard, and she could only see their mouths twisted open in silent happiness. The girls were playing a game, and the child-version of Náwien gave Enelya chase. The sight stabbed at Enelya's heart; Náwien no longer followed her, for she was wise enough to choose her own paths. Just when Enelya thought her heart might break, the picture flashed again, this time showing her a previously lived summer's day. She saw herself at the Golden Hall, talking with Theodred, their lips pulled upwards in identical grins. Life sparkled in the image of Theodred's face, and reflected in her own visage.  
  
But Theodred was no longer alive, and neither was the former version of herself that she could see over and over again in Náwien's eyes. And what did she have left? Power? Who was she kidding - her power was in the hands of Saruman, and no matter how many plans she made, she would never be able to succeed the way she had been told she could. Power, in Isengard, was only an illusion. It was whatever Saruman wanted it to be.   
  
Her life had ended the day that she met Gríma Wormtongue, and she'd destroyed all chances of regaining her free breath. She'd carelessly dropped a sizzling flame upon the bridge that connected her dark days to her light ones, and there was no way for her to return now.   
  
Enelya Carnesir was dead. There was nothing left for her in Isengard, and nothing to go home to in Rohan besides the remains of scorched memories.   
  
Enelya felt like collapsing to the ground in sorrow, letting sobs take her, but she was too far beyond crying now. Her eyes were as dry as her soul, and there was an emptiness in the pit of her stomach, which told her that she would never be whole again.   
  
Náwien continued to stare at her sister, puzzled by her hesitation. She'd stood above her, holding the sword in the air, for quite some time now, and Náwien was beginning to wonder if she would ever make a move.   
  
As if summoned by her thoughts, Enelya slowly brought the sword down, lowering it to Náwien's eye level. She looked down the long blade, her blood rushing in her ears. She closed her eyes, afraid to witness her own death, but prepared for the excruciating pain that she would encounter within the next moment. She only hoped that it would be quick, for she believed that she'd suffered long enough.  
  
"Náwien," Enelya said, her voice barely above a whisper…so soft and quiet that she was sure she'd imagined it. "If there's one thing that you must remember, it's this."  
  
Náwien opened her eyes, blinking up in surprise.  
  
"For every place, person, and thing that makes you feel free," she said, hardly audible, "they will suffocate you later on."  
  
Náwien's brow furrowed, thoroughly confused at her sister's words.   
  
"I am sorry," Enelya said, glancing up at the sky, as if she expected it to appear any differently. "I only would we were young again. How dark it is now." She paused, staring at her straight in the eye for a few seconds. That one moment seemed to last a lifetime, and an unspoken message of grief passed between them. "I am sorry," she murmured, again letting her eyes flutter closed, for it hurt too much to look at her younger sister any longer.  
  
Then, to Náwien's utter horror, Enelya thrust the blade into her own chest, staggering forward from the initial pain and shock. Her dark blue eyes were large with agony, and she fell to her knees, gasping for air. Blood poured from the wound, surrounding the silver metal, dripping down her black robes, staining the ground beneath her. Náwien dropped beside her, crying out in disgust and panic.   
  
"Enelya," she said, reaching out to her.  
  
"Don't," Enelya coughed, choking on her own blood. "Go…run. Before they see you."   
  
Náwien raised her eyes to Enelya's in a mixture of awe and resignation. Her lips trembled in a shaky smile, and she nodded, standing.  
  
"Fare thee well, my dear sister and friend," Náwien whispered, staring down at her sadly for a few moments. She knew that she would never be rid of the terrible image of Enelya kneeling in the brown grass, life slowly slipping from her body, as she neared the deep sleep of death.  
  
But, Náwien knew, she had already been halfway there for some time.  
  
Once she could not bear the sight of her dying sister any longer, Náwien turned, and ran south, pulling her hood up over her head once more, letting herself be mistaken for Enelya again. She would fill her sister's place, until it was time for her to add to her own tale. Náwien could only hope that it would be a happy ending, though, she knew that fate had a cruel way of assisting her in times of need. When she was some yards from Orthanc, she turned, and gazed back towards where she came from, squinting to see the distance. In the darkening light, she could make out a lone figure, bent at the waist, salvaging what was left of her breath. The gasps of air grew few and far between, and soon, there was silence, as Enelya slumped forward, her eyes forever frozen on the dirty ash of Isengard.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: *Sniffle* *~*~ 


	29. The Raging Storm Commences

~*~*A/N: I've been sorta busy…so that's why I haven't been updating. But, this story will get finished. I promised.*~*~  
  
  
  
--CHAPTER TWENTY NINE: The Raging Storm Commences  
  
  
  
The dark air was still with an ominous warning, and the moon hung low, silently threatening the tranquility of Helm's Deep. Nevertheless, the people of Rohan stood tall, proud, and ready for whatever danger Isengard would send forth. Every man and boy, riders and farmers alike, posed bravely atop the wall, holding spears, swords, and shields. A look of resignation was plastered on all of their faces, and even the youngest of fighters appeared to be fearless. Théoden's people were truly on his side. They were prepared to follow him through any tale, no matter how dark and dreary the story became.  
  
The King himself stood beside his men, though he might as well have been alone. If anyone looked up at him from below, the presence of the other soldiers would slowly fade to nothingness, for Théoden drew all light to him, and removed any awareness of his surroundings. It was mostly the effect of the King's magnificent aura; he glowed with strength and determination.  
  
"They are almost here," Aragorn said, approaching the King's side.  
  
"Aye, I can see the lights of their torches in the distance," Théoden agreed, his ears alert to the faint footsteps of the marching Uruk-hais.  
  
"When they come, my lord--"  
  
"Then we will greet them with our blades and arrows," Théoden interrupted, turning to meet Aragorn's chillingly blue eyes. "There will be no victory for Isengard here. We will outlast them."  
  
Aragorn nodded, wondering if there was a catch of doubt in the King's voice. True, his words were inspirational, but his tone didn't quite match. Aragorn sighed, but said nothing, and moved back along the wall towards his position. He cast a glance backwards to Théoden again, noting the way he held his head high in the air, bearing pride for the people around him. He would do anything for Rohan's safety; that fact clearly shone in the firm gleam of his eyes.  
  
As Aragorn watched Théoden look at the approaching army, a new thought worked its way into his mind swiftly. If he survived this battle, Aragorn decided that he desired to be as great of a king as Théoden was. He knew that he would do for Gondor what Théoden so selflessly did for Rohan.   
  
~*~  
  
Legolas, with his keen Elvish senses, did not even have to turn to know that Éomer was at his side. He could feel the Rider's strong presence; his heavy breath and equally thick footsteps were a clean getaway. Slowly, the Elf turned, raising his gaze to that of his friend's.  
  
"I apologize for my behavior earlier," Éomer said, before Legolas could speak. "I was wrong to become so cross with you; we are on the same side in this war. We cannot afford to quarrel over petty differences."  
  
Legolas nodded.  
  
"I appreciate your words, Éomer. It is good to hear you realize this."  
  
"Unfortunately," he continued, "I cannot yet share your inspiring faith, for I refuse to hope so dangerously." Éomer paused slightly before adding, "But we mustn't fight about it any longer."  
  
"I agree," the Elf said with a small, but powerful smile. "At any rate, you will soon see the truth for yourself."  
  
"Truth?" Éomer echoed, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
Legolas's grin widened slightly, his white teeth sparkling against the moonlight. He turned, looking towards the oncoming army, his soulful sapphire eyes glimmering mysteriously. With a gentle jerk of his head, he gestured to the approaching Uruks, before redirecting his gaze to Éomer once more.  
  
"I do not understand what you are referring to," Éomer said, confused. "My sight is not nearly as sharp as yours."  
  
"You will understand all in due time," Legolas promised. "Have patience; do not rush the approaching shadow."  
  
Éomer nodded, freezing his position as he allowed his face to take on the same determined expression as everyone else's. He would be ready for the enemies when they arrived, and he was prepared for whatever surprise Legolas spoke of.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien continued to run alongside the Uruk-hais, taking long drags of air, hoping not to run out of breath. She tried her hardest to push the grisly images of her sister out of her head - Enelya clutching her chest, long fingers slick with heavy, dark blood. Unfortunately, every time she concentrated on ridding her mind of all nightmarish thoughts, the awful mental pictures returned, even stronger. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the familiar sensation of woe rush over her. Náwien set her jaw in a firm line, determined to defeat the emotions of grief and despair. She had new motivation…there was a renewed power driving her forward. She would not only run to Helm's Deep for Rohan, but for her sister, and the person Enelya could have been…the woman who she chose not to be.  
  
Overhead, the skies darkened, and the air smelled faintly of rain. The sweet misty aroma filled Náwien's nostrils, and she inhaled deeply, comforted by the customary scent. In the distance, she could see a few flickering lights; she knew they were torches, which stood atop the grand wall of Helm's Deep. She was so close to her destination, and her entire body could feel its strengthening presence as she neared the keep.   
  
Náwien pulled her cloak tighter around her body, ducking into the roomy warmth of the black hood. Her hand snaked underneath the thick raven material, finding the hilt of her sword at her side. Touching the strong handle provided her with solace, and she silently asked the weapon to give her strength. Upon thinking this quick prayer, Náwien nearly laughed out loud. As if a stationary blade of steel could drive her to absolute bravery while facing her darkest hour.   
  
~*~  
  
The caves were filled with the rumbling sounds of the gathering men and approaching Uruks. The walls seemed to vibrate, and the rocks shook, threatening to crumble at any moment. Young boys and girls whimpered, frightened, and mothers clung them to their chests, though no more brave then their children. Éowyn sat alone, drumming her fingernails on a nearby rock, feeling antsy. She didn't belong there - with the terrified villagers. She belonged up on the wall beside her brother and uncle. Éowyn knew that she was just as talented with the blade as the men, and probably better than most. Yet she was forced to sit and wait impatiently. What good was she to Rohan when she was not even allowed to defend her own people?  
  
Éowyn's cold blue eyes narrowed, and she stood suddenly, her hands flying to the sword strapped to her waist. No. She would not stand by and meekly let the Uruks storm the keep.   
  
Her lips set in a determined line, Éowyn strode towards the rocky staircase that led towards the inside of the palace. She cared not about dying or getting hurt. She would die willingly, if it was to be her fate to fall that night.   
  
Before she reached the stairs, a hand shot out, halting her.  
  
"My lady," murmured the desperate voice of one of the villagers. Éowyn turned and looked down at the woman, regarding her messy blonde hair and pleading eyes thoughtfully. "We are so afraid," she said, her voice broken up by her fear. "Please…do not leave us."  
  
Éowyn let her eyes wander the caves for a moment, and she stood still, transfixed, for it seemed as though the entire area had come to a complete standstill, and all gazes were turned towards her. As she looked at each forlorn expression in turn, her heart began to sink guiltily. She was wrong in attempting to flee the caves. Perhaps, Éowyn realized slowly, she was of wonderful help right where she was. If she couldn't fight the enemy, at least she could attempt to replenish the quickly dwindling hope of the villagers of Rohan.  
  
~*~  
  
The vast army ahead was slowing down greatly, nearly at a full halt. Náwien knew that they had reached Helm's Deep. She stood still for a few moments, taken by the overwhelming realization that she had succeeded in escaping from Isengard. Never again would she have to behold the disgusting sight of Wormtongue or Saruman.  
  
A shudder ripped through her shoulders as she thought of Wormtongue, and the eerie chill brought her back to reality. She glanced about, wondering how she would get into the keep.  
  
She noticed a few Uruks heading up a hill, towards a door, holding a log above their heads, with the intent of breaking inside the palace. Breaking away from the crowd, Náwien darted after them, her pulse racing. In just a few minutes, she would be where she'd dreamed of being so many times. The bliss was so close that she could practically taste it.  
  
Náwien smiled, pulling her cloak tighter as the rain began to pound against the stones, putting out the flames of the torches. She barely even noticed as her overcoat was soaked and she began to shiver from the cold.  
  
Not even the raging storm could stop her now.  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Hmm…how many of you guys are hanging off of a cliff now? ::Peeks over the edge:: Ooh…that's a lot of readers. Well… ::tosses down some crackers:: At least you guys won't go hungry! Haha. Let me know what you thought of the chapter.*~*~ 


	30. Only a Few Leaves In a Forest

~*~*A/N: Well, this begins the battle of Helm's Deep. Yay. This is mostly bookverse, but I'm adding a few things as well as taking away and switching stuff around…I'm basically giving you my interpretation of the battle. But there are quite a few book quotes in this chapter. (Disclaimer in disguise I suppose.) Ents? I'm still deciding on that one. I may or may not put them in. However, there will be no Elves. That's for sure. And to whoever left me that review about Arwen…I just hope you were kidding. Anyway, enjoy.*~*~  
  
  
  
CHAPTER THIRTY: Only a Few Leaves in a Forest  
  
  
  
Éomer and Aragorn stood together at the top of the wall, looking out at the rush of Uruks; the approaching shadow. Raindrops hurled around them, landing on their stubborn armor with a clanging sound. Both could taste the salty water of the sky on their lips, and the sensation was so familiar as to comfort them in such a time of darkness.   
  
Suddenly, as quick as lightning, and just as unexpected, a tidal wave of arrows sailed over their heads - a warning. The Uruk-hais below screamed with anger, banging their weapons on the ground over and over until the noise became a blur of fury and hatred.   
  
Then, once the threat of the Uruks was heard by all, they ran forward, dividing their paths between the wall and the ramps. It became apparent that they were going to attempt to break inside the castle.  
  
Aragorn and Éomer shared a look, and they both nodded. Éomer raised a hand, signaling to the fighters of Rohan. A moment later, a flurry of arrows and rocks fell from the wall, and seemed to come from the sky as well. The enemies faltered, but only for a moment, as the ones who survived stepped over the fallen bodies carelessly, and pressed on. This process repeated itself for a few minutes, making the band of Uruks look like a raging sea; they rose and fell like crashing waves in a bitter storm. And all the while, they drew nearer, one step closer to achieving their goal.   
  
"Look," Aragorn said, pointing downward to the ramp which lead to the Hornburg-gates. Éomer turned, staring below him at the slough of wild men and Uruks who bore two tree trunks, thick with promise. They were surrounded by a protection of thick steel shielding, as to forbid anyone from even attempting to alter their plans. They marched towards the gates with a purpose, determined to break through the heavy doors and take the keep.   
  
The two great Men stared down at this sight for a few moments in awe, taken with the heavy prospect of failure. Then, as if waking from a daze, Aragorn grabbed Éomer's arm, turning the Rider towards him quickly. Their eyes met quickly; icy blue boring into deep brown.   
  
"Come," Aragorn said bravely, and in that one word, an entire story was told. Courage and determination were buried deep in his grave voice, and he stared at Éomer now with wild resolution. "This is the hour when we draw swords together!"  
  
Éomer's heart swelled with loyalty and care for his good friend. He nodded twice slowly - the first nod for Aragorn and a second for Rohan. His hand stilled on the hilt of his sword at his side, as did Aragorn's. Their eyes never left one another's, and a sizzling electricity passed between them - the sharing of true power. Individually, the two Men were swift and wondrous in battle, but together they would be unbreakable. Slowly, they released their swords in perfect unison, and their blades seemed to glow a blinding silver in the nighttime air, despite the cruel winds and torrential rain.  
  
They raised their weapons, forming a shimmering "X" in the sky. Éomer briefly wondered if the brilliant light that seemed to radiate from their swords was only established in his mind.  
  
"Gúthwinë!" Éomer shouted, his deep voice echoing in the night air, vibrating his cry over and over. "Gúthwinë for the Mark!"   
  
"Andúril!" Aragorn reciprocated, his sword trembling with great pride in his hand. "Andúril for the Dúnedain!"   
  
Without any other word, they leapt over the wall, and flung themselves before the group headed for the gates. The two trees were dropped instantly, and they made a rumbling sound as they rolled down the sloping ramp and crashed to the wet ground below. Many of the shield-holders lost their balance, and fell down to the rocky stream beneath the inclined path. Without protection, the dark archers fled the ramp, throwing themselves to the stones, away from the great swords of Aragorn and Éomer.   
  
"If we had gotten here any later," Aragorn said, turning to look at the gates, "the castle would have been invaded."   
  
Éomer twisted around to see what Aragorn was referring to. He bent by the gates, running his dirt-smudged fingers over the bars, which were bent and crooked, and the hinges were almost broken completely.   
  
"Then it is good that we arrived when we did," the Rider concluded, straightening. "We cannot stay here behind the walls to defend the gates. Look!"  
  
Aragorn glanced towards the causeway, seeing another swarm of Uruks and wild men alike gathering by the stream. Feather-tipped arrows flew back and forth between the two sides, and the enemy advanced swiftly.  
  
"We must get back and see what we can do to pile stone and beam across gates within. Come now!"  
  
"Wait, Éomer," Aragorn said, grabbing the Rider's shoulder. "Turn your eyes this way, and see what approaches."  
  
A cloaked figure was making its way up the ramp, towards the gates. The mysterious person did not walk like an orc or a wild man of Isengard, but at its side was a sword, which moved back and forth with every dainty step.  
  
The two Men shared a knowing look, and Éomer stepped forward, bringing his blade in front of him.  
  
"Do not worry for us, Aragorn," he said. "Let me rid the ramp of this last enemy."  
  
~*~  
  
"Two!" cried Gimli proudly, giving his axe a loving stroke. Legolas scoffed.  
  
"Two?" the Elf echoed. "I make my tale twenty at the least. But that is only a few leaves in a forest."  
  
Gimli was about to reply with a witty remark, when a cry of anguish cut through his attempt to speak. Both he and Legolas turned to see Háma fall to his knees, three arrows protruding from his chest and abdomen. Legolas and Gimli immediately rushed to the man's side, placing a hand on either one of his shoulders. They found themselves at a loss for words, for nothing could be said to ease the pain and sorrow that he surely felt.   
  
Fortunately, and, at the same time, tragically, Háma's passing came quickly, and his eyes no longer moved about to frantically scan the night for a friend. Legolas stood slowly, staring down at him sadly.  
  
"Come," Gimli said to his Elf-friend. "The arrows of Isengard will surely find us if we do not move. Let us lament no more."  
  
Legolas nodded, knowing that the Dwarf was right. With one last apologetic and mourning glance to Háma, he turned, fleeing the sight, to take his place atop the wall once more.  
  
"Legolas," Gimli said again, pointing down to the Hornburg-gates. "Take notice of our friends, and tell me what you think we must do."  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien's heart soared as the mass of Uruks cleared and she set her eyes on Éomer for the first time since she'd been forced to flee Rohan. He stood by the mangled gates with Aragorn, talking, though she could not make out the phrases that flowed from his lips. She watched as he pointed to the wall, and Aragorn turned to look. The Men shared a few whispered words, and then, suddenly, Aragorn stared straight at her. He grabbed Éomer's shoulder, and they both looked in her direction. Time seemed to stop as Náwien felt Éomer's eyes on her, and she froze, unable to move at all, for the moment was too overwhelming. She inspected his face carefully, searching for any signs of happiness to see her, but from her far away position, she could not make out the lines or creases in his visage.   
  
Slowly, Náwien moved forward, as if an unknown force was pulling her towards Éomer. The emotions flooding her body made her feel as though she'd never left Rohan…that everything that had occurred over the recent days was just a terrible nightmare.   
  
Suddenly, Éomer took a step towards her, brandishing his blade.  
  
"Let me rid the ramp of this last enemy," he said, calling over his shoulder to Aragorn. Náwien's eyes widened in understanding; he mistook her for an orc! With her black cloak and the unbearable dark sky, he could not recognize her.   
  
Her mind screamed for her to pull out her own sword, but she could not allow her hands to raise a weapon to Éomer. She briefly wondered if this was how it was going to end…if Éomer would be the one to kill her. After escaping Saruman, Wormtongue, and the cold grip of Enelya, to perish by Éomer's sword would be cruel, indeed, but fate was not renowned for her kindness.   
  
He was so close to her now…inches away. His motions and steps seemed to drag, though he was moving with the quick speed of a soldier. Náwien had waited too long to protect herself, and now, it was too late. Abandoning all thoughts of proper defense, she raised her arms to shield her face, staggering back. She tripped over a slippery stone and lost her balance, her arms reaching out to claw the air as she let out a piercing cry, and prepared herself for the crash to the rocky stream below.  
  
~*~  
  
Éomer swung out with his blade at the cowering creature in front of him, but missed as the cloaked figure slipped on the slick ramp. Whoever he was about to kill released a panicked scream, and clutched at the night air, falling backwards. The hood slipped from this mysterious fighter's head, and Éomer's heart seemed to stop completely as he caught a glimpse of Náwien's face. Her blonde hair was knotted in every place imaginable, and the color was dulled with the presence of earth tangled in with her locks, but still her golden mane stood out in the darkness, contrasting with the raven sky. Her cheeks and forehead bore many red scratches and dirt smudges, making her pale skin look almost ghastly. Her light brown eyes were large with fear, and her mouth was open in a pleading cry for help.  
  
Éomer's sword dropped to the ground with a clatter as he leapt forward, on instinct, to grab her before she fell. He gripped her arm roughly, pulling her towards him, away from the edge of the ramp.   
  
"Éomer," she said, her voice trembling.  
  
He stared at her for a few moments, in complete shock at her presence. His eyes raked her face, searching, as if to make sure that she was really there.  
  
"What are you doing at Helm's Deep?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
"I've come to fight," Náwien said bravely, and, to her surprise, he did not laugh. For once, his eyes were not dancing, ridiculing her desire for battle. "On the side of Rohan," she added. "To prove my loyalty to Théoden…and to you."  
  
Éomer was speechless, and he continued to stare at her, blinking. So Legolas had been right, all this while. And for the first time, he did not care that he had been proved wrong. He had surely lost his case for doubting her, but Éomer felt all the more like a true victor. Perhaps there was still reason to remain hopeful.  
  
Suddenly, a hoard of about a dozen Uruks came charging up the ramp. Aragorn leapt forward, slaughtering some quickly, and Náwien even lashed out with her own blade. Two managed to avoid Andúril's wrath, and threw themselves at Éomer's feet, dragging the Rider to the ground. One climbed atop his back, and the other grabbed his legs.   
  
Before either Náwien or Aragorn could move a muscle, a small shadow came forward, screaming.  
  
"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"   
  
An axe, glinting in the moonlight, swung out, and took the heads of the two Uruks easily. Éomer breathed a sigh of relief at the Dwarf's aid.  
  
"This way!" Gimli shouted, neglecting to notice the blood from his blade, which dripped onto his fingers.   
  
Éomer leapt to his feet, and the three followed him within the gates, into the castle.  
  
~*~  
Once the doors were barred and all were safe, Éomer turned to Gimli.  
  
"I thank you with all my heart," he said, kneeling before the Dwarf, as to reach his eye level. "I shall not find it easy to repay you."   
  
"There may be many a chance ere the night is over," he said with a twinkling laugh.   
  
Aragorn directed his attention to Náwien then, regarding her disheveled appearance carefully.  
  
"You have returned to us," he said softly, his eyes coming to rest upon her face.   
  
"If I may say so," Náwien replied, "I do not think I have ever left."  
  
"Aye, your assistance is appreciated greatly by the King and myself," Aragorn agreed. "If it had not been for your letter, Rohan would never have known the power that Saruman prepared to unleash tonight."   
  
"Then perhaps it would be best for us to rejoin the battle," Náwien said. "For we are not much help standing inside."  
  
"I admire your courage, Lady Náwien," Aragorn said, taking a step towards her. "But you must understand the danger which you are facing. There is a great evil that lurks outside these walls. Are you sure that you can handle the responsibility that you are taking upon yourself?"  
  
"Truthfully, Lord Aragorn," Náwien said, with a quick glance to Éomer, who continued to stare in shock and awe, "I do not know the answer to that question. But I know that I was born to fight for Rohan. And if I die while doing so, then I shall let it be."   
  
Aragorn nodded, accepting. There was naught for him to do but agree to Náwien's wishes. He had neither the time nor the strength to level with her reasonably. Besides, he respected her strength.  
  
"Let us return to the wall then," Aragorn commanded, pointing with his sword. Gimli and Náwien walked forward, their weapons ready to slay, and Aragorn fell into step beside Éomer.  
  
"She is brave, yet foolish," he said softly, as to not let Náwien hear his words.  
  
Éomer cast a quick look towards Aragorn, and he found the gleam in the Rider's eyes resembling the way Legolas's orbs shined whilst dealing wise advice.  
  
"Perhaps, my dear friend, Aragorn," Éomer said with a strange laugh, "you should have more hope."  
  
  
  
  
~*~*A/N: Yay! Three cheers for Náwien! Hehe. I think every single chapter from here on in is going to end in a cliffhanger. ::Throws some more crackers down to the readers, as well as a few bottles of Pepsi.:: *~*~ 


	31. A Tragic Obligation

~*~*A/N: I am so busy. It's frightening me. I just landed ANOTHER major role in one of my shows, so…things have slowed up with this fic, apparently. Anyway, here's the next part.   
--CHAPTER THIRTY ONE: A Tragic Obligation   
Náwien came to a halt at the top of the wall quickly, stunned momentarily with awe for the sight below her. Brown arrows rained from the sky like a thick plague, and all around her, bodies dropped in pain, man and orc alike. She glanced down, noting the heavy black ladders that were quickly propped against the wall, for the enemy would try to climb up over the barricade. Náwien gripped her sword tightly, realizing that it no longer felt awkward in her hand, but comforting and safe.  
  
Looking to her right, she met Éomer's gaze, and she held the stare, letting the moment last for a few blissful seconds. In that short period of time, it seemed as though the entire world froze around her, and she and Éomer were the only ones left…the only ones who could breathe freely. The corners of her lips turned up in a small smile, and, to her surprise, he returned the gesture, his dark eyes shining in a way Náwien had never noticed before. He reached out with his free arm, and grasped her hand briefly, offering a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Warmth and contentment flooded through her body as she slowly realized that not only was Éomer beside her physically, but he truly did have faith in her. His change of state was remarkable.   
  
The instant of shared peace passed quickly, as a dozen or so Uruk-hais leapt up onto the wall from the ladders. Many dropped quickly as Legolas shot them with his bow from behind, and Éomer jumped forward to slay those that still approached. Náwien took a deep breath and let out a cry of determination and anger as she swung out with her blade, driving the weapon deep into mangled flesh.   
  
"For Théoden!" Éomer shouted, flinging a Uruk-hai down to the rocks below.  
  
Náwien spun, feeling the adrenaline course through her veins as she heard the satisfying sound of her sword slicing through the head of one of the foul creatures.  
  
"For Rohan," she added with a shout, and then, an afterthought, she whispered, "for Enelya."   
  
~*~  
  
"What do you suggest we do, my lord?" Gamling asked Théoden, who stood at the top of the keep, looking down at the massacre.  
  
"There is nothing to do besides continue our strong defense," the King answered, his eyes glued to the sight of raw death. "As long as the wall stands, we will withstand any terror that Saruman has to release."  
  
Gamling nodded at Théoden's words, knowing that he was correct. He looked down at the rock wall, which seemed to resemble the stone-like resolve of the men, and could only hope that both would last the night.  
  
~*~  
  
"Gríma," Saruman boomed, calling to his loyal servant. "Have you seen that girl as of late? The one that we did bid to kill her sister?"  
  
"No, my Lord," Wormtongue answered honestly. "I have not seen her for some time."  
  
The Wizard's eyes narrowed slightly, and he glanced around in a shifty manner, contemplating.   
  
"Search the grounds," he commanded, looking towards his balcony. "If you find evidence of her fleeing Isengard, seek her down. I want both of them dead."   
  
"Yes, master," Wormtongue agreed, nodding his head quickly. "I will do as you say." He exited the room swiftly, his black cape sweeping behind him, leaving behind a cold breeze. Saruman leaned on his staff, staring after him.  
  
"If my plan is cut to ruins at the cause of that foolish worm, there will only be death for my servant. I will not stand for any opposition, no matter how foolish or unintentional the mistake may be," Saruman promised to the empty room. His blood boiled at the thought of failure due to Wormtongue's ridiculous involvement with the Carnesir sisters, and the Wizard was once again reminded of his severe hatred for the weaknesses of Men.  
  
~*~  
  
Wormtongue stepped outside into the night air, feeling the cold wind on his skin, ruffling his dirty hair. He touched the sword at his side, feeling no remorse regarding Saruman's instructions, for he cared not for the petty life of Enelya Carnesir any longer. The challenge of corrupting the young villager was dulled, for he'd achieved his goal, and she had not captured his interest for some time. It was a pity that he never managed to fully bring Náwien to the darker side, but Wormtongue knew that he could not win every race to his fullest desire. Sometimes, sacrifices must be made.   
  
Suddenly, Wormtongue's boot caught underneath a heavy object at the ground, and he was pitched forward. He let out a cry of surprise as he stumbled to the ground.  
  
Slowly, he turned to see what had tripped him, and his pale blue eyes widened in shock as he realized he'd come across a dead body. He crawled to it cautiously, trying to see in the murky darkness. Just then, the moon slipped out from behind the clouds, casting a silver light down onto the ash of Isengard. Wormtongue gasped aloud as he realized he was looking into the frozen eyes of Enelya.   
  
He staggered back slowly, for he'd been sure that the body belonged to a useless Orc, and was shocked at the sight of Enelya's dead form, a steel blade driven deep into her heart. He inspected the hilt of the weapon carefully, and he realized with a start that she had died upon her own sword. Whether the death was self-inflicted or not, he would never know.  
  
Wormtongue turned and fled from the empty field, back towards the safety of the tower, prepared to report his findings to Saruman. He knew that the Wizard would be extremely happy with his news.  
  
~*~  
  
Náwien pushed a few strands of water and blood-soaked hair away from her face and pressed on, killing enemy after enemy. The fighting grew to be second nature for her, and she now used her sword with the same ease that she used to breathe. It was hard to believe that she had not been battling all her life.  
  
She paused for a moment, catching her breath, and used the time to glance around the keep. Bodies littered the stone wall, above and below, and she regarded the sight with a new heavy feeling in her heart. Náwien slowly began to realize the severity of war; it was not, after all, glamorous and heroic. Enelya had once told her that truth, and she'd laughed at the time. Now, she'd give anything to be able to tell her sister that she had been right. War was a grim and tragic thing, and though it was necessary for her to assist Rohan, it did not fulfill her with the same happiness as she'd once expected. Náwien wondered if all the great heroes felt the same way - if they looked upon their duty as a tragic obligation. She knew that she could not contemplate this wondrous theory for too long, for it deterred her from her duty.  
  
With new breath in her lungs, Náwien rushed forward, taking off the head of a Uruk-hai that was trying to climb up over the wall. She let her mind clear of all thoughts, for she knew that she mustn't think too hard about the situation around her. There was no time for thinking - only doing.  
  
Suddenly, coldness seeped through her body, and she staggered backwards as though she had been hit with a rush of ice water, even though she was already drenched from the rain. In the distance, she heard someone screaming her name, but she did not understand fully why. A strange warmth spread over her stomach, and she finally looked down to see a brown-tipped arrow protruding from her middle. The freezing sensation was actually a stinging pain, and the odd warmth was the flooding of her own blood.   
  
Náwien reached down to remove the arrow, but found that she could not grip it, strangely enough, and decided to ignore it. She leapt out with her sword again, but her swing was limp, and she only barely sliced an arm of one of the wild men. She gasped as the wound throbbed with white-hot pain, and she stumbled, feeling her legs give out below her.   
  
Someone grabbed her from behind, and, with much effort, she turned, seeing Legolas.  
  
"Come," he said, trying to pull her towards the castle.  
  
"No," she replied stubbornly, attempting to free herself, though, she was so weak, that it was impossible. "I want to stay and fight."  
  
"You are badly wounded," the Elf told her, half-dragging her along the wall. "You must come inside."  
  
"I don't need anyone's help," Náwien argued, though she knew he was right. She allowed him to carry her up the stairs, to the gates, reluctantly giving into his assistance. "When I am better," she managed to choke out, "may I return to the wall?"  
  
"You may do whatever you wish," he promised after a moment's pause, refusing to meet her gaze.   
  
They passed Aragorn and Éomer, and both Men turned as Legolas walked by.  
  
"What devilry is this?" Éomer exclaimed, his eyes widening upon seeing Náwien's drained form in the Elf's arms.  
  
"She was pierced with an arrow," he explained, never slowing his pace. Éomer ran after them, leaving Aragorn at the wall. "Stay and fight, Éomer!" Legolas called over his shoulder. "You must help Aragorn."  
  
"Go back," Náwien added, struggling to see him over Legolas's shoulder.   
  
Éomer ignored both of them, and continued to follow towards the palace, never replying to either of their statements. He cared not for the Elf's commands; never had he once listened to anything Legolas had to say, and he certainly was not about to start now.  
  
The three reached the gates, and were quickly let in by a few of the Riders. Náwien gave one last look to the sight of death and defeat before the doors shut behind her, closing away the rainy night forever.  
~*~*A/N: Yep. That's the biggest cliffhanger ever. So - take a poll. Who thinks she's going to die? And who thinks she's going to live? Let me know, for I will not say either way. *~*~ 


	32. Glittering Sunrise

~*~*A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? Sure has. Here you go.*~*~  
--CHAPTER THIRTY TWO: Glittering Sunrise  
"There!" Legolas shouted, pointing towards a table, which was covered with a cloth, plates, and wineglasses. As if anyone could find the time for a celebration that night.   
  
Éomer ran forward and yanked the cloth from the table, feeling content with the shattering sound as the objects crashed to the floor. The Elf gently lay Náwien's weak body atop the wooden table, instructing softly for her to relax. Éomer stood back, still holding the white cloth, afraid to move any closer to them.   
  
"How badly is she hurt?" asked Éomer quietly, his voice trembling with fear.  
  
"I am afraid to say," Legolas answered. He turned his head slowly, meeting Éomer's eyes over his shoulder, and as his gaze locked on his friend's, an undeniable current of resolution passed between them. Éomer could see the sorrow expressed in the Elf's features and he knew then that Náwien was not going to live. Suddenly, the moment ended, and Legolas turned back to the young girl, leaving Éomer alone in the background, his head bent, absorbing the truth.  
  
"I am going to pull out the arrow," Legolas said to Náwien, who nodded, willing to bear the agony in exchange for the possibility of living.  
  
Éomer watched as Legolas wrapped his long delicate fingers around the base of the arrow, getting a strong and steady grip. He winced, only imagining how horrible it would feel as the sharp point was ripped from the flesh of her abdomen. He couldn't look, and shielded his eyes as Legolas removed the arrow. Náwien let out a loud cry of pain as the weapon was extracted, and the Elf threw it upon the ground immediately, turning his attention to the wound.  
  
"Éomer!" he cried. "Hand me that cloth that you are holding."  
  
Éomer looked down at the white material in his hands before thrusting it into the Elf's hold. Legolas quickly wrapped it around Náwien's midsection, tying a tight knot at her hip. He bent, catching the excess cloth between his teeth and pulled, the tearing sound echoing through the hollow hall. He stared, watching helplessly as the ivory material was soon stained with red.  
  
"The blood is moving fast," Legolas stated quietly.  
  
"Do something!" Éomer pleaded.  
  
"Alas, there is nothing I can do," he answered. The crimson puddle was growing, covering the makeshift bandage and table.   
  
"You cannot just let her die!"   
  
"And what would you have me do, Éomer?" Legolas cried, whirling on his friend. "I know not any magic to fix this wound."  
  
"Are you or are you not an Elf?!"   
  
"I may be Elfkind but I am not one of the Valar. I cannot do what you ask of me." Legolas shook his head in disbelief at Éomer's heated expression. "You Men are all the same. You blame those that have only good intentions in your times of sorrow. How quickly you forget that if it wasn't for me, Náwien wouldn't have been able to escape Isengard. I helped both of you. I helped you when you didn't even want my help. And now you turn on me because I cannot heal her. You act as if I were the one to shoot her with an arrow."  
  
Legolas's words rang in Éomer's ears, and he looked to the floor silently, letting the phrases and sentences turn over again in his heart. He knew deep down that his Elf friend was right, but at that moment, he did not wish to hear any sort of wisdom, for the woe was too strong.  
  
"I am going to return to the battle," Legolas said, collecting his weapons. "I would advise you to do the same, Éomer, though, I understand if you choose to stay behind."  
  
He paused, giving Náwien one last glance, and nodded his head slightly to her, before taking off towards the gates. Éomer, alone in the hall with her, glanced about his surroundings, as if searching for a friend or familiar face.  
  
"Éomer," Náwien managed to choke out. Two small droplets of blood appeared at the corners of her mouth as she coughed. He moved towards her, and, once he reached her side, took her hand in his.  
  
"You were right," she said. "You tried to tell me…you all tried to tell me. But I didn't listen. I just wanted to be a hero. You told me that I would get killed. I should have listened to you."   
  
Éomer's eyes widened as he realized what she was saying.  
  
"It was all useless," Náwien continued. "I wanted to be a hero. But I'm just a foolish girl."   
  
"Not at all," Éomer said, his dark eyes wide with disbelief at her words. "Náwien, you are anything but a foolish girl. You are one of the bravest women that I know, and Éowyn would be honored to name you a Shield Maiden of Rohan. I have never been prouder of a woman sword-master. It takes a lot of strength and willpower to do what you did. Náwien, you are a hero." Éomer hesitated only a split second before adding, "and I may be damned if I say so, but I am in love with you." He stared at her, waiting for a response.   
  
But there was none.  
  
Náwien's honey-colored eyes were frozen on the high stone ceiling, her lips parted as though she had been struggling to speak before she took her last breath.   
  
"Náwien?" he whispered, looking down at her hand in his. The grip was slack, her dirt-smudged fragile fingers lay lifeless against his rough palm. Éomer staggered backwards, grief-stricken. He stared in shock at the sight before him, wishing desperately that it were only a trick that his mind was playing on his eyes. How could Náwien - the girl full of dreams…full of life - be dead? Was fate that cruel?   
  
Éomer felt hot tears spill down his cheeks, but made no move to brush them away, for he cared not about his dignity at that point. All he could think about was whether Náwien heard everything he spoke, or if she died before she could know that he was in love with her. …If she died without knowing that he believed she was the greatest hero that ever lived.  
  
A shiny object caught his eye, and Éomer flicked his gaze to the floor, where Náwien's blade lay. Suddenly, he knew what he must do…what she would want him to do.   
  
"Forgive me, Gúthwinë," he murmured to his sword, before laying his weapon down gently. Then, Éomer strode forward, picking up Náwien's blade, and raising it towards the heavens.   
  
"I will fight in her name from this moment on," he declared, feeling as though the tip of the blade shone deeper than the brightest star. He turned back to Náwien's limp body one last time, and bent, placing a soft kiss upon her forehead.   
  
"Farewell," he whispered, touching the blood and dirt-stained hair that lay underneath her head. Then, he turned, and ran towards the gates, Náwien's sword driving him forward. He would continue fighting for the both of them. And Éomer could only hope that Náwien heard his words of love and faith before she slipped into eternal peace.   
  
Éomer crashed through the gates, running back into the slick night air. He met Aragorn's eyes briefly, and felt a surge of power spring through his veins. He looked down to the orcs, and the blind fury pulled him towards them. For all he cared, each monstrous creature was the one that drove the arrow through Náwien's body. He would kill them all.  
  
"FOR NÁWIEN!" Éomer yelled, throwing himself into the pile of foul orcs below, lashing out with the blade. He would not rest until the battle was over and the victory for Men had been established.  
  
~*~  
  
Wormtongue entered the dark tower where he knew his master resided, and wandered the halls silently, searching for the White Wizard. It wasn't long before he turned a corner, and peered into the throne room that he found Saruman, standing before his palantir.   
  
"Master," Wormtongue said softly, catching his attention.  
  
"Did you kill the girls like I asked?"   
  
"One of them is dead," Wormtongue answered. "Enelya, the elder. But Náwien is nowhere to be found. I have searched the entire area. She is gone."  
  
Saruman muttered something under his breath, his dark eyes flashing with anger. Wormtongue studied his face carefully, slinking backwards, afraid of what he might do if he grew even more furious.  
  
"This is all your fault, you worthless worm," Saruman scolded sternly. "If you hadn't been so weak, there would never have been a problem concerning either of the Carnesir sisters. What have you got to say for yourself, you pathetic swine?"  
  
"I am sorry, Master," Wormtongue whimpered in the corner.   
  
"You're lucky, Gríma, that Helm's Deep is going to fall within the night," Saruman said, turning back to his palantir, where he could view the destruction of the fortress. "It appears that the younger sister had no impact in the battle. But it would be wise, in the future, to refrain from acting upon all of your desires."   
  
"Yes, Master," Wormtongue said obediently, narrowing his eyes. 'One day,' he thought to himself as he slunk from the room, 'one day, I'll show Saruman that Gríma isn't someone to step on. I'll destroy him myself.'   
  
~*~  
  
Hours had passed, and the day was arriving. The battle, though, was showing no signs of ending.   
  
"This is starting to become hopeless," Gimli groaned, wiping sweat and blood from his forehead.   
  
Suddenly, as if summoned by his words, a striking white light appeared up on a nearby hill. All activity ceased to a slow halt, and everyone, Man and orc alike, turned to gaze up at the small mountain.   
  
Then, against the soft glow of the morning sun, appeared a lone rider, wearing all white. The sunrise glittered around him, outlining him in a heavenly haze.   
  
"Mithrandir!" Legolas shouted. "Mithrandir!"   
  
Gandalf, it was indeed Gandalf, raised his arm, and a man joined him at his side.   
  
"Erkenbrand!" the Riders shouted in joy.   
  
A rumbling sound was heard by many - it sounded like thunder in the distance, but the Riders of Rohan knew better. As the noise grew louder, thousands of men joined Gandalf and Erkenbrand on the hill, and the Men suddenly knew that they were saved.  
  
Éomer turned to Gimli, clapping a hand on his shoulder.   
  
"Master Dwarf," he said, his voice tight, as though he were afraid of breaking down in sobs, "if there is one thing I have learned from this tale, it is that nothing is ever hopeless."  
  
Éomer met Legolas's eyes, and the two friends smiled at one another, tears shining in both Éomer's dark orbs and Legolas's misty ones. They turned to look at the hill, and stared in awe at the beauty of Shadowfax, as the elegant white horse leaned back on its hind legs, whinnying loudly, before descending upon the orcs like a rainbow would spread itself across the sky. Erkenbrand and his soldiers followed suit, running down the hill like a wild river on the loose.   
  
The remaining orcs took one look at the newcomers, and fled in the direction of the forest. The air was filled with the cries of victory and happiness as it became clear that the night was truly over. The sun was shining once more, and life would go on.   
  
Éomer glanced down at Náwien's sword, still lying in his hand. He nodded, letting only one tear slip free from his eye. He fulfilled her duty, and his own. It was a victory - bittersweet - but a victory nonetheless.   
  
"Come," Legolas said, putting a hand on his arm. "We will give her a proper burial."   
  
Éomer allowed himself to be lead towards the gates, towards his future. Behind him, the last of the orcs were fleeing, and Gandalf, atop his brilliant white horse, was smiling. It was a reminder of the happiness that once was…the tragedy that had come to pass…and the memories he would never forget.  
~*~*A/N: Bet you didn't expect this ending! There'll be an epilogue. So cool your jets.*~*~ 


	33. Epilogue

~*~*A/N: Well here it is. The last installment. I've got to say…I'm so happy this story is done. I've had fun writing it, but towards the end, I ran out of steam. It's been a long road, this tale. All right. Enough whining. Here you go! Enjoy! And thanks for reading!*~*~  
~*~*~*~*EPILOGUE*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Battle for Helm's Deep was an eventual success, and the minions of Isengard never returned to Rohan. The villagers were eternally grateful to Théoden and the other Riders, for they truly saved their lives. Rohan never saw another shadowed day again.  
  
~*~  
  
Théoden displayed his loyalty to Gandalf and Aragorn by helping them on their initial quest. He continued to fight bravely until his final day, where he was crushed underneath his own horse. The King was greatly mourned and missed by all. He was considered one of the greatest leaders of Men, and was never forgotten.  
  
~*~  
  
Éowyn showed her courage in the battle against the Witch King. She was finally able to fight the way she wanted to at Helm's Deep, and it was said that she fought in the name of Enelya, her friend who, long ago, turned away from Rohan. Éowyn fell in love with Faramir, the kind Captain of Gondor, and they were eventually married. She and Aragorn remained great friends until their end of days.  
  
~*~  
  
Wormtongue, as planned, destroyed Saruman. He grew tired of being treated as no more than a scrap of dirt or ash, and one day, snapped. He slit the Wizard's throat after being called "Worm" incessantly. Unfortunately, Wormtongue did not get to enjoy the moment of victory for too long, for he was instantly pierced with Hobbit arrows. He died, quite unfortunately, at Saruman's feet.  
  
~*~  
  
Éomer became the King of the Mark after Théoden's fall. He swore to live up to his uncle's reign, and he was determined to be as great of a leader as he was. With role models such as Théoden and Aragorn, Éomer had quite a bit to strive towards. He knew that he could achieve all that he imagined.  
  
Contrary to what he believed, Éomer did fall in love again, and married. He never forgot Náwien, his first love, and she lived on in his dreams. After he and Legolas buried her body in the hills beyond the fortress, no one ever spoke of her again. However, it was said, in legends to come, that, from time to time, Éomer would lie down his sword, Gúthwinë, to rest, and pick up a smaller blade. One that looked like it belonged to a villager.   
  
Of course, it was only talk. But some believed it to be true.  
  
~*~  
  
The story of Náwien and Enelya Carnesir was never told aloud again. At Éomer's demand, their names were not mentioned, and eventually, they were forgotten by most.   
  
However, deep in the Riddermark, in Edoras, in the Golden Hall, there was hidden a thick, leather-bound book. It lay underneath the pillow of the King, Éomer. Inside, on the weathered pages, was a tale so powerful that it would drive any Man to tears. After Náwien's death, Éomer had written down the entire story of Náwien, Enelya, himself, Wormtongue, and Éowyn, as he saw it, and placed it beneath his pillow in hopes that it would be found after his own demise. When he was finally at rest, he wanted the legend to be told. It was, after all, a classic story of friendship…of betrayal…of determination…tragedy…and love. Men and women, for years to come, would be able to find bits of their own lives within the tale.   
  
And, above all, Éomer wanted the world to know the one simple truth that he learned while knowing the Carnesir sisters.  
  
While faith exists, anything is possible.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*THE END*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
**A/N: Well…there you go! That's all folks. I hope you liked. As always…let me know!*~*~ 


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